Family Matters
by jd517
Summary: We rejoin Martin and Louisa in December following the events of Series 5.  James is nearing five months old.  Will a medical crisis bolster Martin's newfound happiness, or shatter it to bits?  Contains a few references to characters introduced
1. Sanctuary

**Family Matters**

Author's Note: I am not a doctor – I beg indulgence from any medical professionals reading. Medical terminology glossaries when necessary will be at the end of chapters.

Many thanks to my beta, ggo85, who has provided eagle-eyed editorial skills, invaluable suggestions, encouragement and good advice. I am particularly indebted to her for her medical know-how and her insights into what would and wouldn't come naturally to our favorite characters. This story is immeasurably better for her generous attention. Any errors that remain are my fault exclusively

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures and I make no claim to anything other than my rather over-excited imagination.

**Chapter 1 - Sanctuary**

Martin opened his eyes on a cold, grey Sunday morning, grateful to be snug inside in a warm bed with Louisa curled beside him. He rolled to his side to face her and put his arm around her waist, pulling her more securely against his bare chest. Oh how he enjoyed touching her, feeling her warm body pressed against his, inhaling the scent that was all hers though he could never place what it was. He thought she looked gorgeous - relaxed and tousled, with her eyes closed and a faint smile on her soft lips, clad only in his pajama top. As his hand slipped lower, he realized that her nightclothes, such as they were, had hiked up around her hips leaving her lovely bottom and shapely legs uncovered. This brought a smile to his face, a more common occurrence these days.

Louisa sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer, burrowing into his chest and nestling her head against his shoulder. He sighed himself, contentedly, and then glanced past her to the video monitor on the bedside table to reassure himself that James too was still sleeping soundly in his nursery across the hall. It was cozy and peaceful and he was glad it was Sunday and he had no reason to get up just because the clock said it was morning.

If you had told him a year ago, when he was still reeling from their mutual jilting, that today he and Louisa would be living together, sharing a house, a bed, and even a pair of pajamas, he would have immediately ordered a neurological exam to rule out psychosis. But here they were, with James Henry to boot, building a life together in Portwenn. And happy. Happier than he had ever known he could be. The people of Portwenn still irritated and exasperated him on a daily basis, and he was still in a kind of mourning for his surgical career. But on balance, living here with Louisa and James had its own rewards that in fact did make him happy.

He pulled the duvet more tightly around them, like their own personal cocoon holding in their warmth and their love and keeping the world at bay. Before Louisa, bed had been a place for necessary rest and sometimes for tortured dreams, but not a source of comfort. A place to leave upon waking and retire to only when exhaustion overcame him. Now it was a refuge, a place for them to just BE – together, away from his patients and her students and the well-meaning, if often annoying villagers and even from their son on occasion. He counted it among the many improvements in his life over the last few months.

When Louisa had first moved in after James's birth, just being together in the same house, the same bed had been enough for him. Of course he had desired her, but in her sleep-deprived post-partum state, he had insisted on keeping his distance. It was only right after all. And he'd managed to do so as long as he was awake.

But all his good intentions had flown out the window in his sleep. However much he had tried to ignore his reaction to having her so tantalizingly close after yearning for her in the long months of their separation, he simply couldn't. Even after drawing childish imaginary lines in the duvet and wearing his buttoned-up pajamas like a suit of armor and intentionally NOT touching her even innocuously, his conscious self couldn't keep his sleeping self from wrapping his arms around her, touching her smooth and silky skin, inhaling her scent, stroking her hair. Morning after morning he had awakened to find himself holding her, touching her, chagrined at his inability to live up to his expectations of himself and embarrassed at the reaction of his body to hers. He could do nothing but mutter good morning and then skedaddle to the lavatory for a cold shower and more self-recrimination.

Just remembering it made him shudder. He couldn't express how relieved he was that this period was over. Now, he knew for certain that he was invited, even expected, to touch her, to hold her, to reach for her in the night and to have her reach for him. Louisa had made him feel welcome in his own bed. He thought about last night and how they had come to be sharing a single pair of pajamas and he softly kissed the top of her head, reveling in the memory and grateful for the ease that had crept into their relationship.

It hadn't happened overnight. The first time they made love after James Henry's birth things had not gone to plan, which had upset them both. The Saturday night before the Louisa had gone back to work, before she'd become fed up and left him again, he had been caught completely off-guard when she'd emerged from the lavatory wearing a lacy nightdress he vaguely remembered from the time of their engagement. With her wider hips and rounder breasts, the effect was even more lascivious than before, and his mouth had gone dry at the sight. She had very determinedly kissed him and pulled him to the bed, making her intentions known in no uncertain terms.

He'd raised at least a token resistance, asking if she were sure, reminding her that he was more than willing to wait until she was ready. He hadn't recognized it at the time, but in hindsight it was clear that she had been hell bent on proving, to herself as much as to him, that she was healed and whole and back to normal, something he hadn't realized she was unsure about. It hadn't taken much persuading for him to set aside his doubts and join her in bed.

At first it had been wonderful. She had set a fevered, almost frantic pace in their foreplay and he had been more than willing to follow her lead. As he stroked her body, he had managed to palpate her abdomen sufficiently to reassure himself that her uterus had returned to its normal size and place. Relieved to know that making love was not contraindicated by her condition, he had responded enthusiastically, giving in to his instinct to bring her pleasure and satisfaction, mindful of doing so without causing her any discomfort.

But then her whole body had grown tense and she'd begun to cry. Flummoxed, he'd immediately retreated. What's wrong, he'd wondered, through the lust that fogged his brain? He'd stopped, of course, worried she'd changed her mind, or worse, that he'd done something wrong. It had taken fortitude but he'd stopped.

She'd finally admitted, haltingly, that she was frightened and that she was frustrated at her own body's response, or indeed lack of response, to his attentions. Things didn't feel the way they used to.

His mind raced. Was she still not healed? Had she suffered nerve damage in her pelvic region during delivery? Were her breasts too sore from nursing for even his gentle ministrations? Or was it mental? Was she just too tense to enjoy herself?

He gallantly had suggested they wait and try again in the future but she was insistent that they continue. He had wiped her tears and kissed her again, then turned his attentions to her back to see if he could help her relax.

He'd nibbled her earlobes, pushed away her hair to kiss the nape of her neck, and then with fingers and lips and tongue laid a path down the length of her spine, ending at the small of her back. When she'd cried his name -in that way that made him weak with desire, with its hard Cornish R- he'd turned her over to capture her delicious mouth with his own. "Martin, my lover," she'd cried as he kissed her neck, her collar-bone, the valley between her breasts, her navel, and eventually the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief that he could once again make her writhe with desire, clutching the sheets and calling his name.

When the critical moment came, when they both seemed consumed with need and he'd managed the condom and she'd looked into his eyes and pleaded with him not to stop, he had moved slowly, scanning her face for any sign she was in distress. With every indication that he was not hurting her, he had breathed a sigh of relief and had at last allowed himself to enjoy the pleasurable sensations pulsing through him. Suddenly Louisa had cried out and before he could decipher whether it was from ecstasy or pain, the baby had begun to wail.

Immediately they had sprung apart, still coated in a thin veil of perspiration and breathing heavily from their exertions. She went immediately to the cot and cuddled their crying son against her still-naked body. She brought James back to the bed and arranged the pillows so she could feed him, cooing to him that he was alright, that he was a sweet baby. Without a word, Martin had wrapped his pajama top around her, a more serviceable covering than her discarded lace nightdress, and had taken himself off to the lavatory for yet another cold shower.

It was not until a week after the kidnapping that they'd tried again. The first night they had been more shaken by the events of the day than either of them cared to admit. Neither had been keen on letting James Henry out of their sight and they had spent that night huddled together in the bed at Louisa's cottage watching the baby sleep and reassuring themselves that he would suffer no ill consequences from his adventure.

It took a several nights together back in this room, kissing and caressing each other but not going any further, for both of them to admit they were uncomfortable making love with the baby sleeping in his cot right next to them, particularly after he had so inconveniently interrupted their last attempt. Armed with that knowledge, Martin had led her the next night to the little spare room across the hall and made love to her on the narrow bed that he hadn't used since his parents' visit. It was a joy and a relief to re-consummate their relationship in a mutually agreeable fashion. The very next day, Louisa had busied herself organizing the spare room as James Henry's nursery, an arrangement that they both now admitted served them well.

Martin heard the church bells begin to ring and he looked again at the clock and the monitor on the bedside table. Bravo, James, he thought to himself. Sleeping in until 0800 was a big milestone for a newborn – a whole eight hours since they'd been up with him. He stroked Louisa's back and thought about the neighbors who would be rushing about preparing to go to church, to spend an hour in that sacred space. As a man of science, religion scarcely made an impression on him beyond the rituals of social necessity - it hadn't for years. But as he thought about how he felt in this moment, in this time and place, he felt gratitude for whatever cosmic force had brought him here. Whether it was God or fate or Chris Parsons, he was thankful he had found this sanctuary.


	2. Domesticity

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 2 – Domesticity**

On Monday morning, Louisa came downstairs to find Martin sitting at the table beside James's high chair, with an apron over his suit, dutifully spooning runny oatmeal into their son's waiting mouth. James was grinning broadly and banging a spoon of his own on the tray, and Martin seemed to be taking this task as seriously as a surgical procedure. "Aww. My two handsome men," she thought to herself, admiring the love in this simple domestic scene. As she crossed the kitchen, she stopped in front of Martin and then spun around slowly, which she had trained Martin to recognize as his cue to compliment her.

"Louisa. You look lovely this morning."

"Thank you, Martin." She smiled and smoothed the edges of her lavender twin set over the stop of her smart grey flannel skirt. She opened the fridge to rummage for a pot of yoghurt and a plastic container with some of last night's salad to put in her insulated lunch bag. "Do you need anything from the market? I'm going to stop after work, I think. We're low on washing powder and tea, and I thought I might get some sweet potatoes. James liked those carrots so much I thought we'd try that next." Since he'd mastered sitting up, they had begun to introduce solid foods, adding one new one every three or four days to make sure he didn't have a reaction.

Martin looked thoughtful. "Erm – is there any of that fennel left?"

She opened the crisper drawer. "Yes – half a bulb it looks like."

Martin nodded.

"Do you need that packet of spinach we picked up on Saturday for tonight's dinner?" she asked, making notes on her shopping list.

"No, but I'll use the fennel and that box of mushrooms. I'll pick up the fish when I go to the chemist to get my order this afternoon."

Louisa grimaced slightly at the mention of more fish. Rotating the responsibility for cooking was supposed to give them each a chance to have what they preferred but, really, it seemed like she was going to grow gills if she had to eat fish one more time. Still, she held her tongue and put on an agreeable face.

"Great. I'll plan on the spinach for my quiche tomorrow." Her tiny rebellion. She knew he thought quiche was too rich for dinner but that he also knew better than to question what she cooked when it was her turn. Fair was fair. "Can you see if Mr. Shepherd has any nappies if you have to go to the chemist's anyway? They never have the unbleached ones at the market."

"Yes."

"How's he doing with his breakfast?" she asked, nodding at James as she added an apple from the fruit bowl to her lunch, along with some empty containers for the breast pump she kept in her office.

She watched Martin examine his son, who now had as much oatmeal on his face and his bib as was left in the dish. "I'm not sure how much he is actually ingesting, but he seems to be enjoying himself."

At that moment James smiled up at Martin and spit out the food in his mouth, delighted to have Martin's attention. Martin gave him a look of some disgust, then set the dish aside and picked up a damp cloth to wipe the baby's sticky face and hands. Louisa knew better than to laugh.

"That's enough for you, young man. No use feeding it to you if you're just going to spit it back out." He deftly removed the bib and extracted James from the harness and deposited him in the playpen in the living room before turning back to swab down the high chair and clean up the oatmeal.

Louisa quickly loaded the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, all the while watching James roll from his front to his back in the playpen trying to reach the brightly colored rings attached to the corner. She was also considering how the various paint colors put up in squares around the living room and kitchen looked in the light of a winter's morning. The warmer gold would be better than the peach she concluded.

"More coffee?" Martin offered as he prepared his own cup.

"Not sure I have time, but thank you," she replied.

At that moment there was a knock at the back door, followed by the sound of it opening. In breezed Amanda Morrissey, calling "Morning all." She closed the door behind her and began taking of her coat and scarf, her reddened cheeks evidence of the biting wind blowing this December morning. "You'd better get going, Louisa, it looks like nearly all the kids are up at the school already."

Amanda was the nanny- a qualified and reliable nanny who competently cared for and nurtured James in their living quarters at the surgery while Louisa was at school. She was a godsend and a major reason things were going more smoothly between Martin and Louisa this time around. And today, as usual, she was right on time.

After the kidnapping, Louisa had been torn about letting James out of her sight. She had initially considered quitting teaching as her only option for keeping him safe. Surprisingly, it had been Martin who had encouraged her not to act rashly in giving up her career. Somehow he had finally received the message that teaching meant more than a pay packet to her.

He had pointed out quite validly that part of their problem had been their ad hoc child care arrangements. That he never would have left James with Mrs. Tishell if they had put dependable child care plans, including back up plans, in place. Perhaps relying on Eleanor had been appropriate when the length of their stay in Portwenn was in question and it would have been difficult to get someone else. But now that they planned to make Portwenn their permanent home, he encouraged her to try working knowing James was safe and in good hands before making a final decision about giving up her job at the school.

Louisa was enormously grateful to him for this. She knew that Martin's strong preference would be for her to give up her job immediately and stay home to care for James while Martin supported them all. She was ambivalent at best about that prospect. Not that she didn't want to be with James, but being a teacher was part of who she was and she wasn't sure she was ready to leave that behind. When you added to that the fact that she and Martin didn't exactly have the perfect track record, she knew she'd feel more secure if she could keep her job at least for a while, so finding a nanny was an eminently sensible option.

Amanda was a fisherman's wife with two children of her own, the youngest of whom had just entered year one at the school. She had complained to Tricia Soames, who had Michael in year three, about the hard time she was having finding a job that would keep her occupied only during school hours. She had hoped to find work at the school – as a dinner lady perhaps or a cleaner – but there weren't any vacancies. When Tricia mentioned this to Louisa along with the fact that Amanda had worked in a nursery school in Delabole before she married, Louisa had jumped at the chance to have her meet Martin and James. In the end they had all agreed it was a perfect match.

Amanda was sturdy and apple cheeked, with black curly hair and startling green eyes. She was on the far side of forty but had an inscrutable face that made her seem ageless. She had a serene, unflappable but loving way about her and James seemed to take to her right away. She was careful to write notes for them about what he had eaten, how long he had slept, even the state of his bowels, all of which particularly pleased Martin, who was used to having a patient's medical notes for reference. Martin was just down the corridor when he was working and able to visit James when he had a moment for a cup of coffee or time to each lunch. And every day Amanda bundled James in the pushchair and took him on a walk that ended at the school near Louisa's free period so Louisa could feed him and give him a good cuddle.

After two months of this arrangement, Martin and Louisa were getting used to Amanda's cheery arrival, usually just before Morwenna's. Today, Louisa scooped James out of the playpen for a hug while Martin gave Amanda the orders of the day.

"He slept through the night again last night – two nights in a row now. Perhaps it is the solids, though it doesn't seem like he actually eats much of them. He had a good feed when he woke up at 6 and had a few spoonfuls of oatmeal just now. No bowel movements yet this morning." Martin ran through James's vitals as he would expect a hospital nurse to do. Amanda nodded dutifully, her eyes twinkling.

"Bye-bye James," Louisa cooed as she handed him over to Amanda and put on her coat. "Mummy is going bye-bye now. You be a good boy for Amanda." She came back to kiss him one more time and place her hand on his forehead. He giggled and reached up for her face. After kissing him yet again, she placed a quick peck on Martin's check before grabbing her handbag and her school satchel and dashing out the back door. "Have a good day," she called as the door closed behind her.

X X X X X

Martin watched her go, admiring the look of her bottom as it disappeared out the door. Now, he could enjoy the view without fearing each time she walked away that she would never return. Once again he was amazed at the change in his life in just a couple of months.

He turned back to Amanda and James. "Alright, then. I'll leave you to it," Martin said, taking off his apron and hanging it on the peg. He smiled at James briefly and patted his head, and then headed down the corridor to the reception area, just in time to see Morwenna walking in the front door of the surgery.

"What do you say to a bath, hmm?" Amanda asked James. He reached up to pull at her glasses and giggled at his own cleverness. She traded a rattle for the glasses, a bargain that seemed to satisfy James. As she headed upstairs with him to get him bathed and dressed, Amanda heard Martin ask Morwenna for the day's appointment list.

Everything was running like clockwork. No hiccups - just another day of domestic tranquility at the Portwenn surgery


	3. Germs

**Family Matters **

**Chapter 3 – Germs**

Martin sighed and prepared a throat culture from an unwilling and very squirmy eight-year-old with a suspected case of streptococcal tonsillitis – fever, headache, a sore throat and tonsils that looked bright red with white patches of infection. It was the beginning of winter, and the surgery was filled with patients complaining of coughs, colds, sore throats and fevers. Two babies with croup, an asthma attack, three other cases of strep, and one confirmed case of influenza, all par for the course on a wintry day. He put the swab in a test tube to run the rapid strep test, and then binned his gloves and washed his hands thoroughly. You couldn't be too careful with all these pathogens floating around.

As he suspected, the test was positive. He addressed the girl's mother as he wrote a prescription for antibiotics. "Mr. Shepherd can fill this – its amoxicillin, an antibiotic. One tablet, three times a day for ten days. Other than that, rest, fluids, and paracetamol if she needs it for fever. Call me if she isn't beginning to feel better by Thursday. Keep her out of school until she's been fever-free without paracetemol for 24 hours."

"Yes, doctor," said the mother, dutifully. She was a slim, mousy woman with bottle blonde hair and she looked awfully familiar to Martin, like he should remember her for some reason. She rubbed her daughter's shoulder and shepherded her out of the consulting room. "Come along, Susie."

Martin filled out the lab request form so that the rapid test's diagnosis could be confirmed by a culture and completed his notes, then strode out to the reception area to give both to Morwenna. He glanced around the waiting room. "Who's next?"

"Mrs. Archer's brought Timmy in," Morwenna replied, handing him a packet of notes and nodding her head at a worried looking mother with a lethargic boy at her side.

"Come through."

The boy was eleven, a student at Louisa's school, and according to his mother, the child had been listless, feverish, and complaining of achiness since yesterday morning. Martin was chagrinned but not surprised to learn that the stupid woman had sent him to school anyway, and had brought him in only after the school had called her after lunch to say he was febrile. Martin took his temperature and was surprised that it read 104°F – much higher than he'd expected. The boy's glands were a bit enlarged too, he noted as he palpated them. The boy grumbled that it hurt, which Martin dismissed with a grunt. With a tongue depressor and a small, bright torch, Martin examined the boy's throat, which he found was reddish but not spotted or white. He had a dry cough. Probably a virus, maybe flu, although it could be streptococcal pharyngitis as well, Martin concluded. Strep was likely rampaging through Portwenn Primary now if it wasn't before. He sighed and took another throat swab.

His instructions to the mother were paracetamol, fluids, rest and calling him back if the fever went any higher or the other symptoms didn't improve in a day or two. He'd let her know if the throat culture came back positive and they could start antibiotics then – from the looks of the throat he didn't think it was septic but strep was sometimes sneaky. He noted suspected influenza in the notes and followed the boy and his mother back to the reception area, where the nanny's two boys, Michael and Kevin, had just bounded in from school.

"Afternoon, boys," he said, as he watched them disappear down the corridor to the kitchen. He knew Louisa would be a bit longer, given her plan to pick up the shopping on the way home. He suppressed his daily feeling of annoyance at the fact that she was so determined to keep working when he was perfectly capable of supporting them all so she could care for James. He knew it was a battle he had lost and he was not keen to have another go at it.

"Morwenna, I need another box of throat swabs. There should be one in the storage area in the cellar."

"Not upstairs in the box room?"

"No, over the weekend Al finished putting up some shelves and we moved everything down to the cellar." He didn't explain that the box room was now Louisa's study. He was very pleased with himself that he'd come up with this solution to address the stress he and Louisa had run into when she spread her papers from school on the kitchen table. It had the added bonus of keeping Morwenna from needing to go upstairs, separating the residence and the consulting rooms to a greater extent. And now Louisa couldn't complain about Morwenna waking the baby when she rummaged around in the box room to find extra supplies for the surgery.

"Right, then. Say, Doc? Are your fairy lights and garland down there too?"

"My WHAT?"

"You know, for Christmas. It's DECEMBER - everyone's got their decorations up. I thought maybe I could get yours out and spruce up the waiting room. You've got to admit it's not very festive in here."

"This is a doctor's surgery, Morwenna. It isn't meant to be festive."

Downcast, Morwenna headed to the cellar door.

Martin looked at his list and saw that he had five minutes until the next appointment. Tina Collins was due to bring Darren in for his DTAP and HIb inoculation, which reminded Martin that it was getting to be time for James Henry's next dose. Louisa had come around to his way of thinking that the combined vaccines were preferable to separate injections for each serum after James had his first one. Louisa had cried harder than James had at the jab, and she had reluctantly conceded that the fewer actual pokes the better.

Martin figured he had time for a little break and went through to the kitchen to check on Amanda. When he arrived, he saw her sons, Michael and Kevin, on the floor, playing with James by rolling a ball to him while Amanda kept an eye on things from the sofa. James was sitting up – he was getting rather good at that – with cushions behind him in case he toppled over. He gleefully reached out for the ball each time it was rolled to him. He seemed to be having the time of his life. Martin nodded, and then remembered the illnesses he had seen in the school children today.

"Er, they did wash their hands, didn't they? Before playing with James?" He asked Amanda, while pouring himself a glass of mineral water and walking over to watch his son. James greeted him with a gurgle before turning back to his playmates.

Amanda looked up from the laundry she was folding and smiled and nodded. "Sure they did. Had to wash to get a snack, now didn't you boys?"

Evidence of cheese and apples lay on plates abandoned at the table. They must have consumed those at record speed, Martin mused, given how recently they'd arrived.

"Yes, Mum," they chorused.

"Good." Martin watched them play. He was too busy and if you came right down to it, too embarrassed to get down on the floor and join them. But he loved seeing James happily playing and he resolved to try this game himself when he wouldn't have an audience.

X X X X

Martin was just washing his glass at the sink when Louisa came in with the shopping. "Hello you lot," she exclaimed brightly. She set down her packages and went over to see James immediately, even before taking off her coat.

"How's Mummy's boy, hmm? Did you have a good day?" James looked up, clearly delighted to see her. She got down on her knees and took a turn rolling the ball, and he waved his hands and babbled. Reassured that her son was fine, Louisa came over to Martin and, after she'd removed her coat, she reached up to kiss his cheek. His arm went around her shoulder briefly in what almost might have been a hug.

"How was your day, then?" she asked.

"Erm, not over. I just had time for a glass of water – thought I'd better check in on things here."

Louisa smiled indulgently. She knew it would be hard for her to stay away too if she knew James were playing in the next room. And it pleased her so much that Martin wanted to be part of it all.

"I saw your Aunt Ruth at the market. I hope you don't mind – I invited her for supper tonight. Is there enough fish or do you need me to go back out for some more?"

"No, there's plenty. When's she coming?" Martin put his glass in the cupboard and hung the towel back on the oven door.

"I told her to come over when her shopping was done, but that we'd eat around six or so."

"Fine."

Martin's mobile rang just then. "Ellingham," he answered, brusquely. "Mr. Shepherd, I want you to fill the prescription just as I wrote it. I prescribed azithromycin because the patient has an allergy to penicillin. Yes. I suggest you make a note of it." Louisa recognized this as a call from Lionel Shepherd, the elderly though apparently competent new chemist who'd replaced Sally Tishell after her breakdown. Martin was engrossed in his call as he walked out of the kitchen and back to his consulting room.

Louisa put the shopping away while Amanda filled her in on James Henry's day. He'd taken two long naps, drunk four full bottles in addition to the feed Louisa had given him at school, and been generally cheerful. Amanda thought he was getting ready to cut his first tooth because he was drooling so much.

"We'll be off, then, Louisa, if that's alright." Amanda was gathering up the boys' rucksacks and handing them their coats.

"Fine, that's fine." Louisa poured herself a glass of water and then sat on the sofa and pulled James onto her lap, ready to feed him again as soon as Amanda and the boys left. God, she felt like she'd burst if he didn't eat soon. She laid her cheek against his downy head and the tensions of the day started to drain away. She hoped her nagging headache would go away too. She was glad it was Martin's night to cook dinner – she might have a chance for a lie down with James for half an hour after he ate. She looked at her satchel and the papers spilling out of it, needing her attention. They would just have to wait.

**Glossary:**

Azithromycin – type of antibiotic medication used to treat infections, often used in patients with sensitivity to penicillin.

DTAP and HIb – a four in one vaccine against diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis (whooping cough) and haemophilius influenza type B, a bacteria that causes various serious infection, and which prior to the introduction of the vaccine was the leading cause of meningitis in children under age 5.

Streptococcal tonsillitis/pharyngitis – infection of the tonsils or the throat caused by the streptococcus bacteria. Also known as strep throat.


	4. Humbug

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 4 – Humbug**

Martin was focused on getting dinner on the table when he heard a tap on the back door. He set down the knife and wiped his hands on a tea towel before opening it to admit his Aunt Ruth.

"Good evening. I'm not too early, am I?"

"No. I'm just finishing up. Have a seat."

"And hello to you too, Martin," she said, tartly, removing her coat and looking around for a place to put it.

"Er, yes, hello." He took her coat and hung it up before returning to his work.

"What are you cooking, then?"

"Bass with fennel and mushrooms, roasted beets and turnips, and a salad with poached pears. James gets sweet potatoes."

"Lucky James. Where is he?"

"Louisa took him upstairs about an hour or so ago. I'll check on her directly."

Martin tested the fish for doneness and turned off the heat under the pan. Ten more minutes on the beets. The sweet potato he had steamed for James in the microwave needed to cool before he pureed it.

"Go on, then. Why don't I make myself useful and lay the table."

"Good. I'll be down in a minute." He stuttered "thank you," when she glared at him. He picked up two parcels that were lying on the table with the rest of the post and headed up the stairs.

When he reached the nursery, there was no sign of James or Louisa so he poked his head into the bedroom he now shared with Louisa. What a sight they made – James sleeping soundly on his back, thumb firmly in mouth, with Louisa coiled protectively around him, also asleep. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was spread across her pillow. He'd always thought she'd make a wonderful mother and here was proof.

"Louisa?" he said quietly, touching her on the shoulder. "Louisa."

She stirred and gathered the baby closer to her before her eyelids fluttered open. "Martin. Hello." She looked down at the baby and then carefully transferred him to Martin's arms so she could sit up. "Mmm. What time is it?"

"Half past six. Dinner's ready."

"God. I didn't mean to sleep like that. I thought he and I would just lie down for a minute after I got him changed." She stretched, arching her back and raising her arms above her head.

Martin cuddled the baby against his shoulder. "He feels a bit warm to me."

"Probably the tooth. Amanda said he'd been drooling more than usual." She addressed the sleeping baby as she stroked his head. "Poor little mite – it's hard work getting teeth, now, isn't it?"

Martin felt inside James Henry's mouth. A hard bump on the bottom gum in front was very pronounced. "She's right. If he's fussy after dinner, I'll give him some Calpol."

Martin watched as Louisa rubbed the bridge of her nose and wrinkled her forehead.

"Are you feeling well? Anything the matter?"

"Just a bit of a headache. A scratchy throat. Nothing serious."

"Let me be the judge of that." He felt her forehead and frowned. He supposed it was too much to hope she'd avoided the streptococci that were apparently lurking about the school. "You feel a bit warm too. Paracetamol should help. After we eat, I'll take a look at that throat."

"Don't fuss. I'm sure it's nothing." "What are those?" she asked, pointed at the parcels he had placed on the bed when he came in.

"Came in the post. One addressed to you and one to James Henry Ellingham. I thought you'd want to be the one to open them."

"Oh – this is something I ordered for him online!" She fairly beamed as she opened the one addressed to her and pulled out something small and red. She held it up – a fuzzy footed sleeper with "My First Christmas" embroidered on the front. "And the hat," she said triumphantly, pulling a smaller piece of red from the box. A tiny stocking cap. "Won't it just be adorable?"

Martin was dubious. "Erm. What is that for? For sleeping? I'm not sure he cares what he sleeps in."

"No, silly. It's for the photo of course."

"Photo?"

"Yes, the photo. You know - the one for the card."

"What card?"

"Honestly Martin. The CHRISTMAS card – the one we'll send to all our friends and family. With a photo of James on the front. The one conveying our best holiday wishes to our nearest and dearest? Even if you haven't sent them before, surely you've received one. From someone, surely. Chris and Tracy? I'm positive they must send you one every year with a photo of the kids." She was getting more and more agitated, watching his bewildered face.

Martin patted the baby on the back to mask his irritation. Yes, he knew what Christmas cards were. He'd even sent one or two in his life, most recently to Louisa the year before last. But he hadn't anticipated this.

"Who are you planning to send them to?"

"Well to Isobel and Holly of course. The teachers at the school. And my Dad. Mum if I can track her down. Caroline and Tom, Roger and Maureen. My Auntie Kate in Brighton. And whoever you'd like of course – your parents? Pauline perhaps? The Parsons, and maybe some of your mates from London?"

Martin blanched at the thought of sending greetings to his parents. He hadn't communicated with either of them since their disastrous visit to Portwenn more than two years ago. "Well we can discuss this later. Dinner is on the table. Aunt Ruth is waiting."

"Oh, of course. Let me just open this one. It has a French postmark so I'm sure it came from Mum." She carefully pulled open the large squashy envelope. Out came a Christmas stocking hand knitted in red with "James Henry" worked in the front in green. She held it up and smiled broadly.

"Oh no, you don't. Not again." His voice was tense and his mind was racing.

"Martin? What does that mean?"

"It's not from your mother. I recognize that knitting. Mrs. Tishell made that." He snatched it out of her hands and ransacked the wrapping, remembering both the embarrassing incident with the personalized yellow jumper and of course the dreadful day of the kidnapping.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Is there a note? A return address?"

Louisa searched through the wrappings. "I don't see anything. Do you really think it is from her? It came from France."

"Can't be sure but her husband took her off in that caravan – they could be anywhere." A shiver went down Martin's spine at the thought of Sally Tishell and what she had done to his son.

"I thought you said she got medical help."

"She did. But who else would send this?" Martin shivered as he looked at it. "Creepy." He took the stocking and its wrappings and carried them down to the kitchen bin to be buried under fish scales and turnip peelings.

X X X X X

After dinner, Aunt Ruth went home. Martin sat on the floor and rolled the ball to James as he had observed Michael and Kevin do this afternoon. Louisa watched from the sink where she was finishing the washing up. She smiled, watching how happy James was and how seriously Martin took this exercise.

"I'm putting the kettle on, do you want some?" she asked.

"No, not for me. Your voice sounds scratchy – are you having throat pain? I noticed you didn't eat much."

"Don't pester, Martin. It's just a cold."

He looked at her again sharply, then abruptly stood up and left the room.

Louisa watched him go with resignation. She picked James up and carried him over to the sofa and sat down to feed him. "Fill up, mister. Your dad and I are enjoying having you sleep like a champ." Breast-feeding complicated her life and left her feeling literally drained at the end of the day, but she wouldn't have given up these moments for the world. His hand clutched a strand of her hair and he watched her with his intense blue eyes. She stroked his cheek and hummed a bit of nonsense as he suckled.

Martin came back with his medical bag and Louisa sighed. There were pros and cons to living with a doctor. "Give us a minute, Martin."

She noted with some satisfaction that he didn't leave the room this time. They were getting more comfortable around each other after a couple months in the same house. He still had values that she found positively Victorian, but at least he no longer avoided making eye contact when she fed James. This time he brought her tea over and sat down beside her, watching James and rubbing her shoulder.

"So when are we going to get the Christmas tree? It's the tenth already." she asked.

"It is in a box in the cellar. It fits nicely on a table. I usually just put it over there on the kitchen dresser as there is an outlet there."

"Oh, Martin, not a tiny one. It will be James Henry's first Christmas. We need to go all out. A real tree, holly garlands, poinsettias."

Martin shifted uneasily in his seat. "Real trees are fire hazards. And they drop needles which James might put in his mouth. Not to mention being dirty and possibly bringing in mold or insects. And holly and poinsettia are known to be toxic. Plus he's too little to know what is going on. He'll never miss it."

"Oh, Martin, really?" She couldn't hide her disappointment. "This is the perfect year for a real tree. He'll enjoy the lights so much. He's not crawling yet, so the needles shouldn't be a problem. And he's never alone so he wouldn't have a chance to pull it over. Next year we might have a problem, but this year, this year we should have a real tree. We could move that little chair over and there would be a nice place for it, right in front of the window."

James was drowsy and had lost interest in eating. Deftly she burped him over her shoulder. By the time she was done he was sound asleep.

Martin took this chance to stick a thermometer in her mouth. Before she could protest, he clasped her hand to measure her pulse as well. When the thermometer beeped, he read it and frowned.

"Just as I thought - elevated, and not just a little." He opened his case and took out his little torch and a tongue depressor. "Open."

She gagged as he poked the tongue depressor in her mouth to look at her throat and then took a swab. He had the rapid strep test waiting. They both watched to see if the color changed. It did.

"It appears you have a streptococcal infection. Just like everyone else I've seen from the school today."

"Really?"

"Yes. Honestly, is there any hand washing at all going on up there? With the deplorable lack of hygiene in the village, it's no wonder we've got a rash of cases."

"That's a bit harsh." She rubbed her throat.

"Well you especially want to be careful, for James Henry's sake if not for yours."

He pulled a little bottle out of his case and wrote some notes on it then handed it to her. "One of these, three times a day, starting now. I'll get you a glass of water."

"Are they safe? I mean when I'm nursing?" she asked, frowning and gazing down at the sleeping baby in her lap.

He sighed. "Of course they are safe. I wouldn't prescribe them if they weren't. They do test these you know. Amoxicillin isn't excreted in breast milk."

"Right." She looked at the bottle dubiously, but recalling the episode with the antibiotics during her pregnancy she dutifully swallowed one with the water he brought her.

"And you're staying home from work tomorrow. Doctor's orders."

"Martin, I need to be there. I have lots to do at school. They rely on me."

The impatience dripped from his voice. "I'll bet they do. And do they need your bacterial infection as well? You can't possibly want to put the children at risk of disease."

Of course she didn't. He knew that. She gave in, even as she realized he knew just what buttons to push with her. "Ok. But only until the drugs kick in." She gave him a long look. "And I still want a real Christmas tree."

Martin didn't say a word. He took his case and went back to his consulting room while she carried James up to his cot.


	5. Outbreak

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 5 – Outbreak**

Normally Martin would have been irritated by the ring of his mobile at 0500 for an emergency call out, even more so now that it meant leaving not only the warmth of his bed but his place beside Louisa. Tuesday morning it hardly fazed him, though, in part because he was already up and in part because his bed was no sanctuary now, occupied by Louisa and James, both of them restless, feverish and out of sorts.

"Ellingham," he answered in his typical brusque fashion.

"Doc, you've got to come quick – oh, it's Hugh Archer calling – its Timmy . . . burning up. . ., won't wake up, . . .you said to call, he's having a fit . . ." The flood of agitated words from the telephone was coming so quickly Martin could scarcely comprehend one word in three.

"Slow down, Mr. Archer. HOW high is his temperature? I see. Has he had paracetamol? Okay – get some ice packs. Yes, put them around his body, outside his clothing. When you hang up with me, I need you to call 9-9-9 for an ambulance and ask them how long it will be. I am coming right over."

This sounded ominous to Martin. He remembered seeing the child this afternoon. He had seemed to be suffering from flu or possibly pharyngitis – nothing that would cause these symptoms. The wheels in Martin's mind were turning, testing the symptoms against a mental list as he sprang into action, dressing efficiently.

"What's wrong?" Louisa asked sleepily.

"The Archer boy."

"Which one?

"I don't know - the one who came to see me today. About eleven years old?" Martin knew he must sound distracted, even rude, but his attention was focused with laser-like precision on the boy's condition which mattered to him far more than his name.

"Oh, Timmy. What's the matter?"

"His temp's shot way up and he's having febrile convulsions," Martin replied as he pulled on his socks.

"Huh?"

"The fever's so high he's convulsing – having a seizure."

"Poor dear. Will he be alright?" Louisa sat up, clutching James closer.

"I hope so. I need to see him and most likely get him to hospital."

Louisa nodded and tucked James Henry's head more tightly against her shoulder.

Martin knew she was worried and wondered how to reassure her. He stopped long enough to put his hand on her shoulder. "Louisa." His voice was soft, the tone he saved just for her. "Try to get some rest. I may be gone a while."

"Martin?" she asked. "Ring me? When you know something."

He nodded and then trampled down the stairs, tying his tie as he went.

Martin raced through the quiet streets in the dark to the Archers' terraced cottage near the school, his medical bag bumping against his leg, his coat flapping. As he ran up the stoop, the boy's father hovered in the doorway, waiting.

"Where?" Martin barked, authoritatively if just a bit breathlessly in the cold air.

"Just upstairs - the room on the left." The man's voice quavered with uncharacteristic fear as he spoke.

"When will the ambulance be here?"

"They said twenty minutes."

"Wait for them here and send them up directly when they arrive." With that, Martin took the steps two at a time, ducking his head to avoid banging it on the ceiling.

The lights on the upper floor were ablaze, and he found Daisy Archer hovering over her unconscious son, another pajama-clad child hanging onto her leg. Martin's eyes were promptly drawn to the child lying on the bottom bunk, limp and flushed.

"Doc. Thank God you're here." The mother was wringing her hands.

Martin knelt by the boy's head, and noticed immediately both that the parents had managed to follow his instructions about the ice and that the convulsions had stopped. It was a relief that they had followed his advice and it portended well for their ability to implement whatever treatment regimen might be necessary. He opened his case and reached by touch for a tympanic thermometer which he pressed to the boy's ear. As he did so, he noted the rigidity of the folds and muscles at the back of the boy's neck and his heart sunk. The thermometer registered 106°F, way too high, especially for a child who had been properly dosed with fever reducer. This wasn't flu.

"How long has his neck been like this?" he asked Daisy as he gently tried to tip the boy's head forward. He felt resistance and stopped to avoid causing the boy any unnecessary pain.

"What do you mean?" asked Daisy as she rushed to peer over Martin's head at her son on his bed, her hands shaking and voice skittering on the edge of hysteria..

"His neck – it's stiff – rigid. How long? Was it like this before the convulsions?"

"I – I – I don't really know. He said something about it hurting after supper, but he also said his head hurt and his back – it seemed like flu, so I thought the paracetamol would take care of it. Is he alright, Doc? I've never seen him like this."

Martin continued his examination, checking the boy's eyes, his ears, and then unbuttoning his pajamas to see if there was any rash on the child's neck or chest. The boy's eyes responded to light and his ears were clear. There was no rash. This was good – he could rule out measles. Next he measured the boy's blood pressure which was lower than it should be, and used his stethoscope to listen to the boy's heart. He looked up at the mother. "It's meningitis – a serious infection of the material surrounding his spine and his brain. We need to get him to hospital."

"Oh my God. That's serious isn't it? Where did he get that?" she asked. "He had all his jabs . . ."

"It's not your fault. You couldn't have prevented it. There are several possible causes – viruses, bacteria, even fungi that can cause this. The doctors at the hospital will draw some fluid out of his spine to test to determine which one is causing his illness."

Martin methodically pulled items out of his case, preparing an injection of Caldolor. "I'm going to give him something stronger than the paracetamol for his fever. Keep the ice packs with you in the ambulance."

"What else can we do?" She was shaking with fear and one hand worried at the pockets of her dressing gown, searching for something, as she used the other to stroke the head of her toddler.

"I suggest you throw some clothes on. You'll want to go with him." The mother nodded, hurrying away along the corridor to another room, chivvying the younger child ahead of her.

Just then Martin heard the welcome sound of the siren announcing the arrival of the ambulance. He estimated that it had rounded the Platt and was making its way up the street where, presumably, the blazing lights and the boy's father waving would help them find the proper house.

While he waited for the EMTs, he checked his bag for dexamethasone. Started now, it might help bring the swelling in the brain down. He heard them coming up the stairs with boy's father calling "Hurry."

"It's meningitis," he said to the first EMT as soon as she arrived. "He had paracetamol two hours ago and I just gave him an injection of Caldolor to try to bring the fever down. Have you got an IV setup with you? I need to get saline going to keep his blood pressure up and I want to add some dexamethasone."

When she handed him the requested equipment from her kit, Martin noticed her face and did a double take – recognizing the EMT who had been there for James Henry's birth. Neither of them stopped to acknowledge each other as they worked together to get the line in the boy's arm.

Mrs. Archer came back dressed in jeans and a jersey instead of her dressing gown, pulling tall green wellies over her bare feet as she stood in the doorway. Her burly husband crowded behind her, both of them looking helplessly at their eldest son who was surrounded by the crew of medical professionals rushing to treat him. "Mum's on her way over, Hugh, to stay with the little ones."

"I'll follow in the car just as soon as she gets here," he replied, hands on her shoulders to steady them both. Two small frightened faced peeped into the room from behind them, eyes wide at the commotion.

With the drip line in, Martin took one more set of vitals and rattled them off to the second EMT who was writing everything down.

"Be sure to radio ahead so they're ready to perform the lumbar puncture as soon as you arrive." The EMTs nodded. They DID know how to do their jobs even if Ellingham didn't give them credit for it.

"Mind his neck!" Martin barked as they carried their patient downstairs to the waiting ambulance, with Daisy Archer right behind.

When the ambulance had sped away, Martin stood in the doorway with Hugh Archer watching it go.

"Tell me straight, Doc. What's going to happen to my son?"

Martin gave him an apprising look. "Viral meningitis is the milder form. Let's hope that's what he has. If so, the hospital will make him comfortable, try to keep that fever down and let it run its course."

Hugh blinked and nodded.

Martin went on. "Bacterial meningitis is more severe. He'll need intravenous antibiotics to get rid of the infection, he'll have a longer hospital stay, and there is more risk of complications."

"What kind of complications?"

Martin knew the risks -blindness, deafness, permanent brain damage . . . even death – but he couldn't bring himself to cause the father any more grief at this point. "Why don't we wait until he gets to hospital? We'll know more when they run some tests."

Hugh looked aghast. "How quickly will we know?"

"The hospital should be able to run tests to have a good idea very shortly. If they even suspect bacterial meningitis, they will start the antibiotics anyway to make sure. But a culture to tell us which strain of bacteria is causing it will take several days."

Hugh reeled from the news, appearing as if he would collapse right there. He looked like a tough guy – big and beefy from years pulling crab pots. But now he seemed to be on the verge of crying like a baby.

"Doc, what will I do? What will I do if I lose my boy?"

Martin didn't have an answer to that.

X X X X X

When Martin arrived home, he was surprised to see Louisa sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. The sky was still dark.

"You should be in bed." His voice was gentle as he came to stand beside her.

"I got James to sleep while you were gone. I think that tooth of his is finally through, thank goodness, and he's feeling a bit better. But I couldn't sleep, thinking about Timmy. How is he?"

"Meningitis." Martin sat down at the table, heavily.

"That's serious, isn't it?"

"Yes, particularly the bacterial kind. I'm waiting to hear from the hospital whether he has the viral or the bacterial type, but with his fever as high as it was, I'm reasonably certain it's bacterial. If that's confirmed, I'll have to call Chris, get the PCT involved, probably escalate it to the Health Protection Agency."

Martin stood, took off his coat and made himself a cup of coffee, thinking carefully. "Louisa, I need to be up at the school when it opens."

"I'll come with you."

"No you won't. Louisa, be practical. You're infectious."

Louisa sighed in resignation. "Speak to Pippa then, Pippa Woodley. She'll help you."

"Who is the Archer boy's teacher? I'll have to check that class over, make sure no one else is showing symptoms. And they'll have to clean all the desks and wipe everything down. It's a good idea anyway with all the strep I've seen but if there is bacterial meningitis going around, we have to keep it from spreading. If not, you may have to close the school."

She nodded. "I'll call the governors. And Timmy is in Ian's class, Ian Nichols. Mr. Coley can help with the cleaning."

"Is he up to it?" Martin recalled the school caretaker's disastrous efforts with fertilizer not a month ago.

"I'm sure he'll manage."

Martin noticed her raspy voice. He put down his coffee cup and sat beside her. "How are you feeling? You ought to be in bed, resting today." He noted her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes, evidence of her illness and her sleepless night.

"I'll be fine – I just can't stop worrying about the children at the school." She looked at the baby monitor when she said this and Martin was fairly certain he knew who concerned her most.

"Shall I cook you an egg?" he asked, solicitiously. "It's soft; it won't irritate your throat."

"Yes, that would be nice," she said, not really hungry but grateful for something else to think about.

As he prepared and served their breakfast, Martin couldn't help but think about their own sleeping son and that other boy, another beloved son, the one in the ambulance making his way to Truro. He looked in Louisa's eyes, and recognized her concern for them both as well. No doubt the whole village would be concerned for Timmy Archer and all the children when word got round. Being Portwenn, that wouldn't take long.

**Glossary**

Caldolor – ibuprofen in injection form, used in this case to reduce fever in an unconscious patient

Dexamethasone – a corticosteroid medication, given by IV to meningitis patients to reduce swelling in the brain

Febrile convulsions – uncontrolled, involuntary muscle contractions that can accompany high fever in children

Tympanic thermometer – reads temperature in the ear – useful for unconscious patients


	6. Epidemic

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 6 – Epidemic**

Before he left the surgery, Martin spoke to Claire Trescott, the chief of infectious diseases at the hospital in Truro, and had his suspicions confirmed – Timmy Archer had bacterial meningitis. She had applauded Martin's quick thinking in adding dexamethasone to Timmy's IV – in her opinion that might be the difference between the child losing his sight or not. Timmy hadn't had a chance to respond to the antibiotic yet but she reported that they had managed to get his fever under control which was a relief. The next 48 hours would be critical for him.

As for Martin, he was now in a race against time to try to prevent the spread of the disease. Damn these people, anyway. With the way even mild illnesses spread through Portwenn, he could only imagine how devastating an outbreak of meningitis was going to be. His heart was heavy as he made his way to the school.

A blonde woman in her forties met him in front of the school with a look of alarm on her face. Martin guessed that Louisa had already filled her in by telephone on the Archer boy's condition. She introduced herself as Pippa Woodley, and Martin had a vague recollection of meeting her before. She led him immediately to the classroom where Ian Nichols was hammering fractions into the heads of year 5.

Martin carefully examined each of the students in Nichols' class, and was relieved to discover that none of them showed any signs of illness at this moment. Theo Wenn was absent, presumed ill. Martin asked Nichols to call the child's parents to find out what the illness was. Knowing the Wenns, the boy might not be sick at all. Things were looking as positive as they could at this point, and Martin was relieved. He suggested to Pippa that she have Nichols and his students to move to the library for the duration of the day. That way Mr. Coley could make sure all the desks were thoroughly cleaned and sanitized.

Moving on to the kitchen and lunchroom, Martin and Pippa found Allison Lane cutting oranges into quarters while something savory simmered on the big cooker. Al Large was in the corner, working on a leaky pipe running behind the dishwasher.

Al looked up from his work, rubbing the back of his neck. "Doc, Pippa." He picked up a spanner and returned to his efforts. Martin idly supposed Al's face was red from exertion.

He nodded absently in response to Al's greeting, but remained focused on his concerns about sanitation in the school's food service areas. This would be a prime place to spread the disease if the highest standards of hygiene were not observed. And the Lane woman did not inspire confidence in Martin on that front. He remembered with some disgust the incident of the stolen Ritalin and its unfortunately predictable effect on her daughter, the car-surfing Delph.

"Good morning, Pippa. Things are under control here – spaghetti Bolognese, salad, orange slices and lime jelly all well under way." Allison sounded cheerful in a forced way and ignored Martin's presence completely.

"Er, yes, Allison, that will be fine," Pippa replied, distractedly.

"You'll need to scrub everything in here too," Martin said to Pippa, gesturing towards the lunchroom chairs and tables. He looked sharply at Allison. "You ought to be wearing gloves when you do that."

"Well I never! Mind your own business, why don't you, and let me do mine. What would I want gloves for?"

Martin couldn't contain his annoyance. "To avoid spreading contagious diseases, you idiot. You should be wearing gloves anytime you touch food that will be eaten uncooked." He gave her a disgusted look and then opened his case and took out a packet of latex gloves. "If the school hasn't provided any for you, you can have these." Honestly, how the school stayed open with this attitude he couldn't fathom. It was a wonder the entire population of Portwenn wasn't in quarantine every day.

When he turned his back, Allison made a face, and then stuffed the gloves in her apron pocket.

"Are we done then, Doctor Ellingham?" asked Pippa, nervously.

Just as Martin was about to say yes, Al keeled over in a dead faint, landing on the floor face down. Allison screamed as Martin and Pippa raced over to the corner.

Martin knelt beside his patient and touched his face. "He's burning up. Get some ice," Martin barked, looking at Allison. "Pippa, call 9-9-9 and ask for an ambulance. Then call Bert." He moved Al to a supine position and removed his jacket as he heard Pippa's high heels clattering out of the kitchen presumably in search of a telephone.

"Al, Al can you hear me?" Martin was shouting as he rummaged in his case for the tympanic thermometer. Here we go again, thought Martin, as he took note of Al's rigid neck as he gently tilted the younger man's head. Al moaned. The thermometer beeped. 105°F. Not good, not good at all. As Martin filled a syringe with antibiotics, Allison came back with ice packs, which Martin took from her and placed on either side of Al's chest.

As Martin rolled up Al's sleeve and prepared to inject him with the antibiotic, he couldn't help but think about Bert. It was new to him, this realization that every victim had a parent, someone who might love him with the intensity that Martin loved James. He'd seen it in Hugh Archer's eyes too. It stiffened his resolve to beat this disease, to save all the sons, and all their fathers too.

X X X X X

"Hello?"

"Aunt Ruth. It's Martin. Listen, I need to know what's been going on with Al."

"With Al? Why?"

"He just collapsed up at the school. I think he has meningitis. Has he said anything about being ill?"

"Not to me. How is he?"

"Unconscious, with hyperpyrexia and nuchal rigidity. Some photosensitivity. I've got one confirmed case of bacterial meningitis from the school. And Al has been working at the school so I have to assume he's been exposed."

"Oh dear! He's been taking on extra work – up at the school and that job for you at the surgery – to pay off a debt. Plus working for me here every day. Maybe it's just exhaustion."

"It's more than that. Exhaustion doesn't result in a temperature of 105°."

"Gracious! No, it certainly doesn't. Is he in hospital?"

"In the ambulance, on his way."

Well do let me know how he is."

"I will. Doctor Trescott will call me once he's admitted and I should have a better idea." Martin paused for a moment, and then added "Aunt Ruth? Wipe things down with disinfectant there, will you? Anything Al might have touched? And ring me if you have any sign of illness yourself. Right away, alright? Even if it seems trivial?"

"I will. And Martin? Be careful." 

X X X X X

Before going back to the surgery, Martin stopped by the chemist to replace the supplies he had used and to order some things that might be necessary if there were more meningitis cases. He still felt some apprehension as he approached the Portwenn Pharmacy, remembering so vividly the moment when he and Ruth had found the locked door and the empty buggy with that terrifying note. He couldn't avoid doing business at the chemist's – no one in Portwenn could, really, but as the doctor he had to be here even more frequently than most. As he opened the door, he couldn't help looking up at the window above, the room where Sally Tishell had kept her mad shrine to him, and he shuddered.

"Doctor Ellingham! Good morning." The new chemist wore a jaunty bow tie and smiled from ear to ear as he greeted his customer.

"Mr. Shepherd." Martin's greeting was far less cheery. He handed over his list and watched as the older man collected his order.

Lionel Shepherd, the new chemist, had been called out of retirement to take Mrs. Tishell's post when she'd had her psychotic break two months ago. He was a rather fussy, mousy man in his late sixties who had spent thirty years working in the dispensary at the hospital in Truro. He was precise and efficient and very closed-mouth about his personal life, traits that Martin valued.

Even Martin could see, however, that Mr. Shepherd's days in Portwenn would be numbered. He was not used to dealing with the public and had never spent any time in a retail setting. While he filled prescriptions flawlessly, he was hopeless with the toiletries, cosmetics, and sundries stocked in a village pharmacy. The wolf-pack of teen-aged girls had pounced when they saw an easy target and had made Shepherd's life miserable, trying to see how flustered they could make him by asking for his opinion on scented lotions, make-up, contraceptives and feminine hygiene products. Poor sod, thought Martin.

"Now, Doctor Ellingham, this is quite a serious list of supplies. Lots of antibi here, a great deal more than usual. Anything I should know about? I mean, to protect the public?"

Martin weighed whether or not to tell Mr. Shepherd about the cases of meningitis. He didn't want to start a panic but people had a right to protect themselves if they could.

"We've had one confirmed and one suspected case of bacterial meningitis. Both patients had been at the school recently. I won't know for a couple of days which strain of bacteria we're dealing with but I want to be prepared in case we have additional cases."

"Oh yes. Good to be prepared. We don't see meningitis so much anymore, do we? Not like the old days. I remember the outbreak we had in '69 – now that was an epidemic." Martin ignored the touch of glee in the man's voice.

"Mr. Shepherd, you'd better see how quickly we can get doses of meningococcal vaccine if we need it, too. Normally we only jab the teenagers, but if that is the bacterial strain causing the illness we've seen, I have to be prepared for increased demand among adults."

"I'm right on that, Doctor. Never fear."

"Call me when you know how long it will take. And you may want to stock up on hand sanitizer and anti-bacterial soap. There is bound to be a run on them when word gets out."

"Thanks for the tip, Doc."

"Er, yes." And because he couldn't stop thinking about James, Martin added, "Oh, and I need nappies. Put them on my personal account."

X X X X X

When he entered the surgery, he was surprised to see Amanda sitting at the reception desk. He scarcely noticed the patients waiting.

"Where's Morwenna?"

"She called; she's home with a migraine."

"Migraine? Morwenna doesn't have a history of migraine. Did she say anything else?"

"No, I don't think so. Her head hurt, light and sound were bothering her and she thought she'd better stay in bed."

No, not Morwenna too! These were classic early symptoms of meningitis. He'd have to go over there immediately. But first he had to see Louisa and James. He didn't think he could keep going without reassuring himself that they were both safe.

"Right. Could you get me Morwenna's notes from the file cabinet? I'm just going to check on Louisa and then go over and see what's wrong with Morwenna."

"What about the patients here?"

As he bounded up the stairs, he replied, "They'll just have to wait."

Louisa was in bed, with James beside her. She was playing peek-a-boo with him and Martin was overcome with relief seeing them both looking so normal and happy.

"Louisa." His voice was filled with emotion that surprised him. He didn't understand this need to touch base, to reassure himself that they were safe. He only knew that he even breathed better now that he was here.

"Hello Daddy!" Louisa exclaimed, looking up at him with her smile that him reel. James gurgled and reached for Martin who immediately picked him up. Martin held his son to his shoulder and felt safe himself.

"I can't stay – I have to go see Morwenna; I suspect she's our next case. I sent Al Large to the hospital but I didn't find any students who appeared ill. Pippa has things under control at the school."

"Martin, this is terrible. Everyone we know."

He stroked her forehead, happy to sense that she did not seem feverish. The strep must be responding to the antibiotic, or at least the paracetamol was working.

"I'll let you know when I get back."

He gave them both one last glance as he headed out to tend to Morwenna, stopping only to tell Amanda to swab Morwenna's desk, computer and telephone with disinfectant and to wash her own hands.

It was only ten o'clock, but he felt like he'd lived a week since Mr. Archer's frantic call this morning.

**Glossary:**

Hyperpyrexia – Very high fever requiring immediate and aggressive cooling

Nuchal rigidity – Stiffened neck muscles, indicative of meningitis

Photosensitivity – patient is bothered by bright light


	7. Virulence

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 7 – Virulence**

The wind was whipping the sea into foamy peaks and driving the icy rain so it seemed to be falling sideways as Martin raced across the village to the Newcross home. He pounded on the door and called Morwenna's name, hoping she was still conscious and able to answer.

She opened the door with her mobile in her hand and looked at him in surprise. She was flushed and disheveled and seemed to be wearing a man's overcoat that flapped open to reveal red baby-doll pajamas.

"Doc! How did you know to come? I hadn't finished dialing yet." She waved the mobile at him with a befuddled look on her face that made Martin wonder if she were hallucinating.

"Amanda told me you were ill. I need to examine you."

"No, no! You have to come and see Granddad. Right now! He's moaning and screaming something terrible and I don't know what's wrong." She pulled on Martin's arm, dragging him towards a door on the left.

As he followed her, Martin frowned, thinking about how the illness was spreading, how it could have reached William Newcross who had no connection at all to the school. It was going to be impossible to contain the disease if he couldn't track the path the pathogens were following.

The old man was in bed, his eyes closed and his chin tilted up. The blankets were thrown back and his face was red under a stubble of white whiskers. His body thrashed and he was moaning in obvious pain.

"Granddad? Granddad!" Morwenna's voice was frantic. She hovered by her grandfather's head and hopped from one bare foot to the other.

Martin needed her to move so he could examine his patient. "Morwenna – I, er, need some ice. Wrap it in a tea towel. Then ring for an ambulance." His voice was commanding and thankfully she responded immediately.

Martin repeated, almost by rote, the steps of the examinations he had done already for Timmy Archer and Al Large. And his findings were consistent – loss of consciousness, high fever, rigid neck muscles, low blood pressure and the absence of signs of any other infections. He injected Mr. Newcross with Caldolor first. Then, grateful for his foresight in stopping to see Mr. Shepherd, took an IV kit from his own bag to get saline and ceftriaxone and dexamethasone started right away.

While waiting for the ambulance, Martin examined Morwenna. This was not a simple task as she was distraught about her grandfather and not terribly cooperative. Martin managed to get the thermometer in her mouth and the blood pressure cuff on her arm. He was surprised that her temperature was barely over normal and her blood pressure was stable. He examined her neck which seemed unaffected as well.

"Does your throat hurt?"

"Hmm?" She wasn't focused and Martin couldn't tell why. "No needles, right, Doc? You know I can't do needles."

"Your THROAT. Does it hurt?"

When she didn't reply, he took out a tongue depressor and his torch. "Open."

Aha. Here was the culprit. Not meningitis, apparently, but strep. He noted the absence of tonsils and wondered when they had been removed.

"Your tonsils have been removed. When did that happen?"

"Tonsils? Oh, I was small. Nine maybe. Before Mum died."

Martin pulled out her patient notes, still in his pocket. He flipped through until he saw Doctor Simms' cryptic scrawl indicating the date of the tonsillectomy. As he did, another entry caught his eye. Morwenna had been given the meningococcal vaccine – effective against some strains of _Neisseria meningitides_, one of the bacteria that could cause meningitis. An interesting development!

"Go and get dressed. You'll want to go with him in the ambulance."

Morwenna looked down at the overcoat. "Oh, yes. I can't go traipsing around like this, can I? Won't be a tick. Give a yell if Granddad needs me." With that she gave her grandfather's hand one more squeeze, then slid out of the room.

As he monitored his patient, Martin contemplated this new piece of information. If Morwenna had been inoculated against _Neisseria meningitidis_, did that mean it was the culprit here? It wasn't likely HIb. Timmy Archer and Morwenna had both been jabbed for that. If Morwenna brought the germs home from the surgery to her grandfather but did not succumb herself, this might be key. Few populations were routinely inoculated – teenagers, especially those going away to school, inmates, soldiers in barracks, residents of refugee camps. But if the vaccine was effective, there might be time to use it now to help stop the spread of the disease.

It was the first sign of hope Martin had felt all day.

X X X X X

Back at the surgery, Martin barely nodded to Amanda who was still manning the reception desk before he sat at his desk behind closed doors to contemplate how to fight this disease. After a moment, he picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Parsons speaking."

"Chris, it's Martin."

"Hello! I hear you've had some excitement down there. Claire Trescott rang me."

"Yes, I just sent the third case up now. Pensioner in his eighties."

Chris let out a low whistle. "Three cases in one morning. I think I'd better call the HPA. What kind of help do you need?"

"I have a theory that it's meningococcal. The pensioner is the grandfather of my receptionist; she lives with him. She's not ill despite being in contact with both of the other patients. And she received the meningococcal jab when she was fourteen. If I'm right, then I'll need to set up a clinic to inoculate the parents of the school children, maybe some of the teachers."

"Good thinking. It can't hurt. I'll make some calls to get you a decent supply of the vaccine. Who have you got to do the jabbing?"

"Not sure about that. I can do it if I'm not seeing new cases." Martin knew this was unlikely. He went on. "The new chemist came from a hospital setting so he may have experience. My Aunt Ruth is a psychiatrist – she theoretically knows how to do it though her joints are bad from Sjogrens."

"You should have a District Midwife – she'll be trained to do it."

Martin made a face, thinking of Molly O'Brien. They had never quite hit it off.

"Er, yes. If she's not playing in her paddling pool."

"Mart, there is scientific evidence . . ."

Martin cut him off. "Can you send me a visiting nurse – for a day or two at least? To help with the vaccines and perhaps handle some of the routine things at the surgery while I'm busy with home visits?"

"I'd love to but I'm not sure who I can spare. I'll see what I can do. Send those you can over to Wadebridge – I'll tell Cardew to be ready for an onslaught."

Before Martin could respond he heard a scream from the waiting area. "Chris, I've got to go . . ."

Another scream, and then Amanda calling his name in a terrified voice. He dropped the telephone and ran to the outer room where a tall, lanky man in a yellow oilskin mac was holding a child in his arms. The child's limbs were jerking violently and his head was rolling from side to side as he cried out in pain. Amanda stood next to them with a look of horror on her face and Martin suddenly realized it was her son.

"Bring him through," Martin said, guiding the man through the door to the consulting room. "Put him on the couch but hold on to him while he's convulsing."

Amanda and her husband laid their son on the couch and stood hovering on either side, holding the boy's body. Martin gloved up and found his tympanic thermometer. 106°F for this one too.

"How long has he been like this?"

Rob Morrissey cleared his throat. "The school called an hour ago – said Michael wasn't feeling well. He vomited up his lunch and said his stomach and his head hurt. Thankfully I wasn't out on the boat – too bloody stormy – so I could go and fetch him." The man's voice was shaking. He paused then went on. "I thought it was just a funny tummy, so I had him change and lie down while I fixed him some tea. But when I went back upstairs, he was limp. I was going to call you, Doc, but he started thrashing around, like. I didn't know what to do so I just picked him up and ran for it."

"Is it the same as the Archer boy?" asked Amanda quietly, with wide eyes.

Martin looked at her briefly, noticing her fear. "Yes. Bacterial meningitis. I'm going to give him some medicine to bring the fever down and stop the convulsions, and then I'll get him started on an antibiotic for the infection. Call 9-9-9 and ask for an ambulance. He needs to get to hospital right away. They're going to want to keep him in the high dependency unit while he is treated."

"Will he be alright?" Rob asked.

Martin paused before answering, not wanting to panic the parents but not wanting to be deceptive. He finally gave the answer he knew he would want to hear as a parent. "He needs treatment right away; he's very sick but there is every reason to hope he will make a full recovery."

Rob nodded and stroked his son's face while Amanda picked up the telephone on Martin's desk to dial.

Martin busied himself with the Caldolor injection, and then set up the IV line. "Which class is he in up at the school? Is he in Ian Nichols' class?"

Rob shook his head. "No, he has Miss Soames."

Martin looked up in consternation. "Does he have any connection with the Archer boy? Are they playmates? On the same football team or anything?"

"No, not with Timmy," Rob answered, "but Mary Archer is in his class."

Amanda seemed to be arguing with the dispatcher.

"Is there a problem?" Martin asked.

"They say they don't have one; they won't have one to send for half an hour or more and then it has to get here." Tears were squeezing down Amanda's face. "Doc, what are we going to do?"

Martin took the phone from her and spoke to the dispatcher. "This is Doctor Ellingham. What's the delay?"

"Look, I've got one en route from Portwenn right now, ETA 20 minutes. I'll have it turn right around and go back. It's the best I can do. What's going on down there anyhow?"

"Meningitis. I have a seriously ill child here who needs immediate transport. We can't wait. What about a helicopter?"

"In this weather? You're barking. No way to get a helicopter out – that's why we're short on ambulances."

"Can we meet up with one nearby?"

"That's a negative, Doctor Ellingham. No one to meet up with."

Damn. He could see Amanda and Rob on the edge of falling apart as they stood beside their son who lay on the exam couch, limp and unconscious, still twitching from the convulsions.

"Doc?" came the voice on the telephone. "Do you still want me to send it?"

"Yes. Get it here as fast as you can."

He put down the phone, racking his brain as to what to do while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. He examined Michael again and checked his vitals. This child was getting sicker by the moment. Waiting for the ambulance was not going to work. He saw only one other option.

"Amanda, get me some ice – as much as there is in the freezer. And get some extra blankets – Louisa can tell you where they are."

Amanda nodded and ran from the room, turning at the door to look back at her son and giving him a small smile. It was probably meant to be encouraging but, Martin noted, the unconscious child was not likely to notice.

Martin dialed. "Portwenn Police," came the voice on the other end. "P.C. Joseph Penhale speaking."

"I need a police escort."

"Doc? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me. And I need a police escort to the hospital in Truro. Now. How fast can you get here?"

"Leave it to me Doc. I'll be right there. Just as soon as I go back to the station and get my official vehicle. What is the nature of your business, Doc? I'll need it for my log. It's procedure."

"Sod your log. I have a child here who needs to get to the hospital immediately and no bloody ambulance."

"Keep your pants on, Doc. Not that you wouldn't. Keep your pants on, I mean. I'll be right there." Penhale's moronic blathering was the last thing Martin needed, but he'd put up with it for the sake of his patient. He ended the call without another word.

Amanda came back with two plastic bags filled with ice. Louisa was right behind her carrying an armful of blankets.

"Martin, what's the matter?" Louisa's voice sounded calm but Martin could see the anxiety in her body language and the look in her eyes. He also saw that she had mis-buttoned her blouse and realized she must have been feeding James.

"I need to get Michael to the hospital. The helicopter can't land and they're short on ambulances – probably because I've had them down here three times since this morning. We'll have to take him in the car – Penhale is coming to give us a police escort."

Rob and Amanda nodded in relief, and held Michael's hands.

"Martin." Louisa's voice was low and urgent.

"Louisa. Be sure to wash your hands before you touch James."

"I will. Be careful, alright? Ring me from Truro?"

"Yes. I should check on Al and the others while I'm up there so I may be gone a while."

Louisa nodded, her blue eyes filled with worry. Martin wished he could erase that worry but realized that would be impossible until he could assure her that James would be safe. Before leaving, Louisa gently touched Martin's hand. He looked in her eyes and hoped she understood he shared her worry about their son and that he'd do all in his power to protect him. He softly caressed the back of her hand with his thumb before letting her go, and then turned back to his patient.

He placed the ice packs on either side of Michael's chest and then gave Rob his keys and instructed him to make a bed in the back of the Lexus with the blankets. While he was gone, Martin hurriedly restocked his medical bag with supplies he might need. As Martin and Amanda put on their rain gear and Rob picked Michael up to transfer him to the car, they heard the telltale siren of Penhale's Bedford.

Martin took one last look at Louisa, who standing behind the reception desk, trying to rebook his appointments, before venturing out into the gale to the car. It was dark and the drive would be treacherous and he wondered again whether it might be better to wait for the ambulance. He shook off his doubts. They were in a race for Michael's life and time was not on their side. With that Martin climbed into the passenger seat and signaled to Penhale to get going. Rob looked back at his son, lying in his mother's lap, then took a deep breath and floored it.

**Glossary:**

Ceftriaxone – intravenous antibiotic used to treat bacterial infections such as meningitis

Dexamethasone – corticosteroid used to combat swelling, in this case swelling in the brain.

HPA – Health Protection Authority – the government agency charged with fighting epidemics

_Neisseria meningitidis _- one of three main types of bacteria responsible for meningitis. Meningitis caused by Neisseria is often called meningococcal meningitis and the vaccine that is effective against some strains of Neisseria is called the meningococcal vaccine.


	8. Victim

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 8 – Victim**

An emergency medical team was waiting in the ambulance bay when Penhale drove up to the hospital, sirens blaring, with Rob Morrisey at the wheel of Martin's Lexus right behind him. Martin leapt out of the car and shouted for a stretcher as he held the IV bag aloft. It had been a tense trip but Michael seemed to be holding his own and the convulsions were lessening as the fever subsided, under attack from the ice and the medication.

"Boy of nine, probable bacterial meningitis. Febrile convulsions and loss of consciousness for the past forty minutes. Temp is 104°, down from 106°. BP is 90 over 60; pulse is rapid, respiration shallow. He's had 400 ccs of Caldolor intramuscularly and I've started dexamethsone and ceftriaxone intravenously. He needs an immediate lumbar puncture."

"Thanks, we'll take it from here," said the senior registrar.

"Starting your own ambulance service, eh Doctor Ellingham?" quipped one of the nurses.

Martin ignored her. "You can stay with him," he said turning to Rob and Amanda. "I'll find you later after they've moved him upstairs." He watched as the distraught parents trailed after the stretcher. It was a relief to arrive here where there were the means and equipment to care for a seriously ill child, but a part of him itched to supervise the boy's treatment personally; he would not forgive himself if the boy suffered at the hands of a hospital staff that was not up to snuff.

X X X X X

It seemed as if all of Portwenn was pacing the halls on the third floor. Martin was importuned by several anxious relatives as he strode down the hall. "Make way – I need to see to the patients before I'll have any news."

He looked in on Al first. Martin was pleased to see Al's temperature was down to 103°F - a much less dangerous level. His blood pressure was stable. He was still unconscious but seemed to be more comfortable.

Bert sat nearby, head in his hands, immobile - like a walrus on the rocks. "Tell me, Doc," he demanded, "tell me my boy will wake up. Tell me." He bellowed with grief and pain and however ridiculous he often seemed, the depth of his love for his son was apparent and touched a chord with Martin.

"He's responding to the treatment, Bert. He's young and strong and otherwise in good health. He's very ill but there is nothing to suggest at this point he won't make a full recovery." He awkwardly reached his hand out, as though he might pat Bert's arm, then thought the better of it and instead straightened the clipboard hanging on the foot of Al's bed.

Into the room burst Pauline Lamb, all flying red curls and swirling orange skirts, teetering on her usual ridiculous shoes. She threw herself at Al, shouting, "You stupid, stupid man!" She pummeled his bed with her fists in frustration.

Her outburst spurred Bert to action. "There, now, pet. The Doc's just told me it will be alright. It's good of you to come. My boy'll perk up in no time with your lovely face here to inspire him, mark my words. He's been pinin' for you somethin' terrible since you went away."

Martin was shocked to see her. Pauline had left Portwenn abruptly in July with scarcely a word to anyone. Martin had only spoken to her once since, when she called in August to request a letter of reference for nursing school. He had assumed she left over a row with Al so her display of concern for him now took Martin by surprise.

"Al, oh Al, what am I going to do without you?" She was crying now, nearly prostrate on the bed.

"Pauline!" Martin's tone was sharp. "He's infectious. You need to take precautions."

Bert's big arm went around her shoulder and pulled her back to a chair. "T'won't do to have you ill as well as Al."

She sniffled and nodded as Bert dug in his pocket for a handkerchief.

Martin busied himself with Al's IV line to mask his unease at the show of emotion from Bert and Pauline. "Doctor Trescott will keep me informed of Al's condition – I'll try to stop in tomorrow as well."

Bert grunted in acknowledgement, still cradling Pauline's with his big arm.

Martin pulled a prescription pad out of his pocket. "Bert, I'm writing you a scrip for antibiotics to take as a precaution. They'll fill it for you at the dispensary. If you have any signs of feeling unwell while you are here, speak to the staff immediately. If you're at home, telephone me. We'll want to start treatment as soon as possible if you come down with this. Understood?"

Bert nodded.

"And you need to close the restaurant. No serving food until everything's been thoroughly scrubbed." Bert looked at him with vacant eyes. Martin thought about trying to explain again, but decided it was unlikely anyone would be eating at the restaurant while Al was ill and Bert was here so he let it go.

After writing one more comment in Al's patient notes, Martin hurried out the door on his way to see the children.

X X X X X

After Martin finished checking on Michael Morrissey, he ran into Pauline again. She was coming out of the loo, drying her eyes. He groaned inwardly at the disruption of his rounds – he couldn't avoid speaking to her, so his only hope was to make it short.

"Doc. Sorry about before. I didn't mean to go mental."

"Ah, well some concern is to be expected." He shifted from one foot to the other, unable to mask his impatience.

"It's just I guess I didn't know how much I loved him. But when Bert called and told me he was so bad off and I thought about losing him, I couldn't bear the idea of him not knowing how I felt."

God, he wasn't some agony aunt to confide in. He needed to change the subject. "Er, I see. Aren't you supposed to be at school?" Pauline had revived her plan to enroll in the nursing course in Bristol after her hasty departure from Portwenn. Martin hadn't been sure of her aptitude but there was no doubting her enthusiasm. He now wondered if her career change had been prompted by the unfortunate Doctor Dibbs and her meddlesome husband.

"Holidays start Friday and they're letting me off early on account of Al. I'll have to make up one exam when I get back."

"So you're staying in Portwenn until after Christmas?"

"Looks like it."

"How's that nursing course coming along?"

"Well I aced the phlebotomy lesson." She smiled slightly at this.

"How about intramuscular injections? Have you covered that yet?"

She seemed surprised at his interest. "Yes, we did that already."

"We need to jab the parents and teachers with the meningococcal vaccine. I need assistance. If you can help, come to the school tomorrow."

Pauline's jaw dropped. Martin found it a very unattractive look. He supposed she was honored he had asked her to assist him. Either that or she had contracted typhus. With a grunt of satisfaction, Martin left her standing there, speechless, and continued on his way to see about Timmy.

As he was about to enter the lift, he saw Doctor Trescott coming from the other direction. She was a willowy woman with crisp gray hair, looking somewhat the worse for wear; her white coat was stained with coffee and her dress crumpled, her expression tense and grim. Martin realized her day had been at least as stressful as his.

"Doctor Trescott!"

"Ellingham. Damned nasty business, this. I'm afraid I have bad news for you to boot. The pensioner, Mr. Newcross was it? He didn't make it. Died in the ambulance."

"Christ." He could just imagine the panic that would envelop Portwenn when that news got out. His next thought was of Morwenna.

"His granddaughter – she came in the ambulance with him. Can I see her?"

"Check the casualty ward – I think they had to sedate her."

He nodded. "Anything else I should know?"

"Two more cases came in here directly – both live down your way as I recall. The younger sister of the first boy – she's about 7 or 8? Came with her Gran to see the Mum and Dad and collapsed in the lift. I think she'll be alright – she was basically in the emergency department when she fell ill so we got her sorted right away. And another boy – about 10. Dark haired, miserable parents? He's in a bad way. Apparently was in Truro for some appointment with his Mum, had convulsions in the car and she drove him in. Dicey situation, that one."

"I'll go and see. That last one – not the Wenn boy was it?"

"Might be – I've lost track of the names." She rushed off, and then turned back just for a moment. "Cracking good job, Ellingham. Very quick thinking to get the anti-inflammatories and the antibiotics started before you sent them up here."

"Standard procedure, really." He was uncomfortable with the compliment, particularly when there was still a long way to go before everyone was out of the woods. "Any idea when we'll get the results of the cultures?"

"Can't say. They've been given highest priority but the damned bacteria have to grow. Hopefully we'll know something by tomorrow evening but it might be another 12 hours after that." And with that she was gone, her rubber soled shoes squeaking as she rushed through the swinging doors.

X X X X X

After checking on the Archer children, Martin went back to the Emergency Department, looking for Morwenna. As he crossed the waiting room, he ran into Penhale.

"What are you still doing here? I'd have thought you left ages ago."

Penhale held up Martin's car keys. "They made me move your car. It was parked in a fire lane. I would have had to issue a citation."

"Er, right." Martin took the keys and pocketed them.

"And Doc? Is everything alright? With the boy, with all of them?"

Martin thought it was obvious that things were not alright. He sighed. "Mr. Newcross – he died in the ambulance."

"Oh, gee, Doc, that's awful." The sudden change in the constable's voice and the sober look on his face reminded Martin of another moment, of Penhale's voice giving him the dreadful news about Joan. He pushed it out of his mind but it gave him an idea. While the man was usually a blithering idiot, he might be useful here.

"Yes. Yes it is. Do you know if he had any family beside Morwenna?"

"There's a son; that would be Morwenna's uncle. Runs the garage over in Padstow."

"You need to find him. Get someone to bring him over here. Then go and sit with Morwenna. I'm going to check on her now, but I can't stay until she wakes up as I need to get back to Portwenn in case there are other emergencies."

Penhale nodded, chest puffed out a bit by the responsibility he had just been given. He squared his shoulders and pulled out his mobile while Martin asked the nurse where Morwenna was resting.

As he strode down the corridor, it took all his discipline to keep his mind on the necessary medical care for his patients. He usually had no problem with focus. But thoughts of his own loved ones, his own fear for them, and his responsibility to them as well as to the village crowded his mind. He shook his head to clear it and chastised himself. Now more than ever he needed his wits about him.


	9. Impasse

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 9 – Impasse**

It had taken several hours for Martin to check on all the hospitalized meningitis patients _and_ reassure the children's parents _and_ question the family members waiting at the hospital about any signs of infection _and_ write prescriptions for prophylactic antibiotics. Then he'd looked in on Morwenna, now under sedation and resting in a medical ward for observation. By the time he was finished, he was tired and worried and cross and most of all longing for Louisa and James Henry.

After some searching and cursing Penhale, he located his car in the car park. As soon as he was on his way, he rang Louisa.

"Hello?"

Martin felt an overwhelming sense of relief hearing her voice. "Louisa."

"Martin, thank God! I've been so worried. How's Michael? Did you get to the hospital in time?"

"Yes, but it's a good thing we didn't wait for the ambulance. He's very ill but responding to treatment."

"It's a good thing you didn't cancel the ambulance, though. Allison Lane needed it not ten minutes after you left."

"Lane? The cook at the school?" So much for thinking this would be contained to two of the classrooms. If the Lane woman was ill, the whole school population had likely been exposed.

"Yes. She was vomiting and had a raging fever. When Pippa called for you, the only thing I could think of was to send the ambulance over."

"That was the right thing to do. But you shouldn't have to cover for me."

"My God, Martin, it's the least I could do. I rescheduled some appointments and sent a couple of patients over to see Ken Cardew in Wadebridge."

"Er, right. Good." It was a boon, having her as a part of his life. He couldn't count the ways. He wasn't sure he'd understood the concept of a help-meet before this moment, but that was what she was.

"How're the others doing? Al, Timmy? What about Mr. Newcross?"

"Newcross is dead. Didn't make it to the hospital. Al and Timmy are holding their own, Al perhaps better than Timmy. Two more came in up here – Timmy's sister and the Wenn boy. The little girl is doing the best of the lot – she's conscious still; her fever never got as high as it did for the others. The Wenn boy is another matter. His symptoms are the most severe and his prognosis is not promising."

"Oh Martin. What about Morwenna? Poor thing. She'll have a rough time losing her grandfather – there's been so much tragedy in her life already."

"They've sedated her so I haven't had a chance to speak with her yet. Penhale's tracking down her family."

"Anything I can do?"

Martin didn't like the weariness he heard in her voice, or the rasp that lingered, reminding him of her throat infection. "Just take care of yourself and James."

"He slept like a lamb this afternoon. I think he was just exhausted after that tooth."

"And you? You're feeling normal? No other signs of illness?" He wouldn't be satisfied until he could see her, examine her, reassure himself that she was not going to be his next victim.

"Just tired. I'll have to call Stu McKenzie, fill him in on the latest cases. The governors have approved closing the school starting tomorrow. Maybe I can have a little lie-down with James when I'm done."

Martin pictured the two of them curled on the bed. Was it only yesterday he'd seen them like that? It seemed a million years ago.

"Chris will take care of the HPA paperwork on the school closing. If you're not having classes, can I use the building? I want to have a vaccination clinic for the adults – parents and teachers."

"There's a vaccine? Can we jab the children?" She sounded relieved.

"We don't know which bacteria it is yet, but there is a vaccine against one of them. If it is the culprit, this should help. If not, so we won't be any worse off as the vaccine is relatively well-tolerated and has few side effects. But I can only give it to adults and teens who've gone through puberty. It isn't safe or effective in children. It won't stop people who've already been exposed from catching it but we may be able to stop the spread of disease among those who haven't encountered the pathogens yet."

"Of course you can use the school. And I can help – keep records or something."

"No, Louisa. I want you to pack a bag. As soon as I get home I want to take you and James to stay on the farm with Aunt Ruth."

"Ruth?"

"Yes. I telephoned her. It's all arranged."

"You want to send us away?" There was hurt in her voice that he hadn't expected.

"I want you to be safe. I was jabbed when I retrained for the GP post so I shouldn't catch this. But you and James - all I can do is try and isolate you – keep you out of the line of fire." He swallowed hard.

"Martin, is that how it's going to be between us? You . . . you . . . you throw us out when it's not convenient to have us around? How can I ever feel like the surgery is my home, our home if you think you can send me away? You already made arrangements with Ruth and didn't even consult me." He could hear pain and rage in her voice. She was insecure and emotional, so emotional. And deliberately misunderstanding him.

"Don't be ridiculous! I'm not throwing you out. Why would you get that idea? I'm trying to protect your health! You don't have to go to Ruth's – you can stay with one of your friends if you prefer – how about visiting Holly for a few days? But I can't deal with this all and worry about you and James staying well too."

"Martin, my place is here. I'm the head teacher. These are my students, this is my village. The surgery is our home. I can't run away from this."

"But think about James." His voice was betraying his panic.

"I am thinking about James. If you can carry on working, then so can I. We'll take precautions with James. I'll drown myself in antiseptic. But how would it look if you did something for James and me that you can't do for the rest of the village."

"Be sensible, Louisa. None of the rest of them is living in the surgery, having patients wandering through their home, exposing them to who knows what. Think about all of the meningitis carriers you and James have been in contact with over the last few days."

"No. I won't hear of it. James and I are staying with you. Now hurry up and get home. You must be starving. You never ate lunch and it'll be nearly eight by the time you get here."

"Louisa . . ."

"Martin I mean it. I'll see you soon." And with that she rang off.

X X X X X

His heart ached when he opened the kitchen door and saw Louisa sitting in the living room, reading James Henry a bedtime story – the one about the fire truck she claimed he liked the best. She looked so lovely, her hair down around her shoulders, a pretty red blouse with her jeans, her feet bare and tucked under her. No dark and cold house to come home to tonight– it was warmed by the welcoming lights burning, the aroma of something delicious in the oven, and Louisa's soft voice reading to James. It took his breath away.

She looked up and smiled at him as he closed the door. "Martin." Just the way she said his name thrilled him.

He removed his coat and hung it in the scullery off the kitchen where they kept the washer and dryer and some hooks for wet outerwear. He left his umbrella there too and took off his galoshes. When he came back she was in the kitchen, James on her hip, setting food on the table.

As he stopped to thoroughly wash his hands at the kitchen sink, he couldn't help watching Louisa surreptitiously, looking for any sign of illness, trying to assess her health from the color in her cheeks, the way she held her head, the expression on her face. He was relieved to see no obvious evidence that she was sick. He would prefer to conduct a thorough examination but that would have to wait until after dinner.

"Here, let me," he said, reaching for his son. James came to him happily, burbling and reaching to grab at Martin's ears, crowing with pleasure.

"You seem chipper. Let me see that tooth." Martin inserted one finger into the baby's mouth and felt the sharp corner of the newly sprouted tooth. He'd done this to dozens of children but there was something quite amazing about admiring his own child's progress.

"He's had his bath," Louisa said, placing one hand softly on Martin's where it held James Henry's back. "And he ate already. I think he might be ready for bed if you want to take him up."

"Yes. I'll put him down and be right back."

In the midst of all the complications of the epidemic, there was something intensely comforting about this little routine. Being here, cuddling his son, preparing to sit down with Louisa for a companionable meal, knowing that later they would climb into bed, side by side, and tomorrow face together what the world had to throw at them.

X X X X X

They didn't mention the row as they ate dinner. Martin was famished and the spinach quiche and steamed carrots were tasty and filling so he ate enthusiastically. Louisa on the other hand only seemed to toy with her food.

She asked him a few questions about the Bert and Pauline and the others he had seen in Truro. She also showed him the post, which included Christmas cards from Isobel and the Parsons, both, she pointed out, prominently featuring photos of their respective children on the front.

"And who are the Mitchells?" she asked, handing him another card.

"Hmm?" He took it absently. When he opened it he saw a photo of a petite blonde woman, a gangly, balding man, and two lovely adolescent girls, all posed on a beach somewhere. Warmest Christmas Wishes from Hope and Mick Mitchell, Audrey and Hadley, it read.

"What? Oh, Hope was an anesthetist when I was at St. Thomas's. Married a barrister about the time I came to Portwenn. Those are his children."

Martin hoped he wasn't blushing. He hadn't mentioned Hope and his brief relationship with her to Louisa. Water under the bridge a long time ago. He covered by adding, rather conciliatorily, "Well you've made your point. We'll have to take a photo of James Henry to put on a card. Not tonight but maybe tomorrow."

She smiled broadly at him. "Brilliant."

He wished he could always make her this happy so easily.

X X X X X

After washing up and donning flannel pajama bottoms and an old grey Henley, he came out of the lavatory and found Louisa sitting on the bed in a tank top and pajama bottoms of her own, brushing her hair. Wordlessly he sat beside her and took the brush, a ritual that had developed over the past few months. She leaned forward over her knees and he gently stroked her hair with the hairbrush and his hands. She seemed to enjoy it and he knew that he did – such a simple thing but sensual and so private and intimate.

He nuzzled her neck, feeling as close to her as he possibly could, at least with their clothes on. He loved how her hair felt, heavy and silky in his hands, growing shinier with each stroke of the brush, making this his favorite part of the day. And tonight this closeness offered an opportunity to broach what was still weighing heavily on his mind.

"Louisa?"

"Mmm?"

"When we were talking before . . . about you and James Henry going to stay with Ruth?"

"Not now . . ." There was exasperation in her voice and her body immediately tensed beneath his hands.

He hesitated but then plowed ahead. "No, I just want to know – would you feel differently, would you feel more secure – if we were married - if we had gone through with the wedding?"

She turned around to face him, and there was fire in her eyes. "I never planned to promise to obey if that is what you mean!"

"No, no that's not what I meant. When you said you couldn't feel like this was your home. Would you feel more secure, about belonging here, with me, if it were official, if we were married?"

"Oh Martin. That's not it. What would make me feel better would be making decisions together. Not having you tell me what to do but discussing it."

"Louisa, be reasonable. This isn't a game. Mr. Newcross is dead. Theo Wenn, and maybe others, may die as well. Meningitis can cause blindness, deafness, brain damage – all sorts of complications."

"You said it yourself, Martin. James and I have been around several of the patients in the last couple of days. If we've been exposed already, going away won't help. We'll stay here and face this together. We'll be very careful; keeping James away from everyone, washing hands and so on." She wrapped her arms around her knees.

"I see." He said this automatically, not seeing her point at all. "So you've decided then, I can't persuade you to go somewhere safe?"

"No. I need to be here. Can't you at least try to understand?" Her eyes scoured his face. Evidently she didn't find what she was seeking, and she buried her head in her hands.

He sighed. "Alright then. There is one more option."

She looked up, hopefully. "What? What is it? What can we do?"

"I can give you both antibiotics. Treat you like I'm treating the other relatives who came in close contact with the victims."

"And it's safe for James Henry?" Her mood lightened considerably.

"Yes, as long as I get the dose right." He hesitated. "But you'd have to stop breast-feeding."

"What?"

"I can't get the dosing right for him if he's getting an unknown amount of your dose passed through to him in the breast milk."

"Oh." She bit her lip.

"He'll be fine with formula. And you'll both be safe."

"Martin, I can't. I'm just not ready to wean him. If I stop breast-feeding even for a while I won't have a supply. I won't be able to start back up." Her eyes were filling with tears. "He's so little. He still needs me."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "He'll be alright. You've given him a great start breast-feeding for five months. And besides, babies who drink formula can thrive. I was a bottle baby and I turned out just fine."

She shook her head. "You said there's a vaccine."

"Yes, but I can't give it to James."

"No, but you can give it to me. Give him the antibiotic and me the vaccine. I'll keep nursing and we'll all be fine." Her eyes entreated him as much as her voice.

He took her hand between both of his. It felt so right having it there just like having her here with him in the same house felt right. He was torn. He'd only ever had to respond to a medical crisis as a physician before. He was not used to having his medical instincts and his personal emotions at war like this. He knew she ought to go away AND take the antibiotics. But he'd nearly lost her so many times before by not paying attention to what she wanted. Was avoiding the medical risk of the disease worth the near certain rift in their fledgling happiness if he insisted on sending her to safety?

He swallowed his doubts. He would vaccinate her and remain vigilant about disease control. "It will only protect you against acquiring the disease after you make antibodies – it won't help if you've already contracted it," he warned.

"We'll have to hope I haven't then." She kissed him lightly on the cheek and took the hairbrush back to put it on the bedside table.

He squeezed her hand. Merely hoping for the best was not his idea of an optimal plan of treatment. He was going along against his better judgment, putting her happiness ahead of her health. She was smiling now and he was pleased that she was content. But he also knew that a smile would be cold comfort if she contracted the disease.


	10. Community

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 10 – Community**

James Henry was fussing as Louisa tried to strap him into the Baby Bjorn carrier hanging from her shoulders. It wasn't ideal to run a community meeting with an infant strapped to your chest, but since she and Martin would both be speaking to the assembled group and neither of them was ready to hand him over to a child minder in the midst of an epidemic, this was the best solution at hand.

James was cranky, most likely because he had undergone the indignity of an injection of antibiotics both last night and again this morning. Louisa was sure he was looking at her reproachfully for allowing this to go on. It was hard to blame him; her own arm was still sore from the meningococcal inoculation Martin had given her before bed. He'd wasted no time implementing his treatment plan once she had agreed, probably fearful that she'd change her mind.

Louisa herself was anxious and exhausted. Martin had been called out twice during the night. Ian Nichols had joined his pupils in hospital. Mrs. Kronk had just needed albuterol for her asthma. Louisa had wakened with fear in her heart each time the telephone rang, and had been unable to sleep during each of Martin's absences. With long practice at interrupted nights, Martin had dropped off to sleep immediately upon each return but she'd tossed and turned. It was going to be a long day.

When at last she had the final strap in place, she looked around her office and picked up some papers. She straightened her green wool dress, already regretting the choice. It had seemed professional and seasonal in her wardrobe this morning, but she was already sweltering, particularly with baby carrier trapping James Henry's body heat as well as her own against her chest. It was odd that the school seemed so warm – she'd have to speak to Mr. Coley about the boiler.

As she passed through the corridor, she heard a familiar voice. She poked her head into room three where Martin was giving last minute instructions to Pauline and Molly O'Brien who would be doing the jabbing.

"Ready?" she asked, looking at him with admiration. No one would ever know he'd been up and down all night; he was impeccably dressed as always in a fresh suit and tie, with not a hair out of place, or a hint of a dark circle under his eyes. His posture did nothing to belay any anxiety at the task ahead of him and he exuded professionalism, competence and confidence. Moments like these made her fall in love all over again.

"Yes." His voice was calm and reassuring. She felt her anxiety lessen a little as he took her hand and patted James on the head. Together they headed up to the lunch room where the people of Portwenn, summoned by email and word of mouth and telephone trees, were waiting for answers about what was happening in their village.

The room was crowded, mostly adults but some of the children were there too. Louisa thought it strange to see the children so subdued – they were usually at their most rambunctious in the lunch room. Whether it was the presence of their parents or confusion about being at school under these mysterious circumstances, they all seemed to be on their best behavior. The adults radiated nervous energy, fidgeting as much as their children were. There were rumblings in the masses as Martin and Louisa crossed the room and went to the front where P.C. Penhale was standing, looking officious.

"Make way for the Doctor. The other half of the dynamic duo." Penhale was shouting to no one in particular. "And our lovely head teacher. Let them through." Martin cut an imposing figure and the assembled parents, children, teachers and assorted villagers parted to let him pass, anxious to hear what he had to say.

Louisa knew that community relations were not exactly Martin's strong suit and that she'd better try to run the meeting to avoid a riot. She pushed past him and up to the front.

"Thank you, Joe. Everyone, would you please take a seat? It is important that we get started right away." Her head teacher voice had the desired impact. The room grew quiet and she could feel the not entirely welcoming eyes of the group upon her. She saw Stu McKenzie nod almost imperceptibly and knew she had to go on.

"As you may have heard, the school governors have closed the school in light of the children and staff who have become ill with meningitis. Since we're only a week away from the start of the Christmas holidays, we'll remain closed until after the New Year and hopefully open as scheduled on the ninth of January, assuming we have approval from the Health Protection Authority."

As she said this, there was a loud crash. Louisa strained her neck and gasped with everyone else as she saw Reg Parker sprawled on the floor. Bracing herself for yet another medical emergency, she looked to Martin, who was standing beside her, hands behind his back, for direction. As she did so, the whole room suddenly filled with laughter and she turned back to see Reg getting to his feet, a bit sheepishly, and taking a bow. She saw his wife, Ginny, shaking her head in embarrassment and it became clear from the not so quiet whisperings of the crowd that Reg had dosed off while Louisa was speaking and the sharp elbow jab from his wife had sent him flying out of his chair instead of waking him up as she had intended.

Louisa gave a weak smile and then resumed her remarks, hoping to regain the group's attention. "Getting back to the school calendar, the last day of the spring term and the start of summer holidays will be pushed back as necessary to accommodate the missed days so there is minimal disruption to the education of the children." She looked over at Martin, who was studiously looking out over the crowd, apparently searching the assembled faces for signs of illness.

"Dr. Ellingham is going to tell us about the medical issues and the precautions we need to take to keep everyone as healthy as possible." With that she gave Martin an encouraging glance, and then sat down on a chair behind Martin, where she could see out onto the rest of the audience. She bounced her knee a bit to keep James from squalling, and tried to distract him with his favorite plush bunny. He seemed content, at least for now, trying to gnaw off the bunny's ear with his brand new tooth.

Martin cleared his throat. "Right. We're dealing with bacterial meningitis which is a serious illness. As you may have heard, Mr. Newcross died yesterday before getting to hospital. There is treatment available but it is important that anyone who is having any symptoms seek treatment as soon as possible. When we finish here, I will be available to consult with anyone who may be having symptoms now. Anyone with a fever, a headache, a stiff or sore neck or vomiting should see me right away."

While Martin discussed the methods of transmitting the bacteria and the relevant incubation period, Louisa was watching her staff. With a practiced eye, she noted which teachers were paying close attention and which were just going through the motions. Tricia Soames worried her – she looked more fragile than usual and that was saying something. She made a mental note to encourage Tricia to speak with Ruth who was going to assist Martin by speaking to any patients suffering from anxiety disorders or other psychological issues.

She tuned back in to Martin as he said, "Anyone who has had close contact with any of the patients should be examined. It may be appropriate to start antibiotics even before symptoms show up."

"How close is close contact?" asked Art Collins, a farmer who had twins in year 5. She thought his son looked peaky, leaning against his sister in a most uncharacteristic way, and she hoped Martin would get a look at him before the morning was over.

"Any contact with body fluids, sneezing, coughing, using the same glassware or cutlery, sharing food or drink." Martin stopped and looked around. "Or kissing."

Louisa smiled to herself. At least he hadn't mentioned licking.

"We heard there was a vaccine," shouted Ellen Bridges, who had three children in the school and lived next door to the Archers. Louisa knew she must be frantic – her Samantha was Mary Archer's best friend.

"We are still waiting to hear from the hospital laboratory to confirm this but we believe _Neisseria_ _meningitides_ is the culprit here . . ."

Martin was cut off by Penhale. "A culprit! Can you give me a description of the perpetrator?" His notebook and radio were at the ready.

"You imbecile! You can't arrest a microbe. We're talking about a type of bacteria!"

There were nervous laughs and Penhale looked dejected. "Poor Joe," thought Louisa, "never the sharpest knife in the drawer."

"There is a vaccine. It is effective against some strains of Neisseria, but it can only be given to teens and adults." Louisa felt the audience deflate at this news, and she looked down at her son who was squirming in the carrier, knowing exactly how they felt.

As Martin directed the adults to see Pauline and Molly for the jab if they were interested and eligible, Louisa shifted in her chair and stifled a yawn. She was too warm and too tired and having a wriggling baby strapped to her wasn't making her feel any better. She rubbed the back of her neck. The straps of the carrier must be chafing.

"Has adequate consideration been given to natural remedies in place of poisoning our bodies with, with PHARMACEUTICALS? Meditating, or acupuncture? Herbs?" Oh dear, thought Louisa. It was Terri Oakwood.

Martin looked outraged as he replied with a sneer, "Do you mean green soup? Burning badgers? Be my guest but don't come running to me when you and your delinquent son are dead from infection."

Terri looked indignant, particularly when the rest of the audience gave her dirty looks, and Martin appeared ready to explode. This was Louisa's cue to come to his rescue and divert things before he said anything else inappropriate.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen." She clapped her hands to get their attention. "Those of you who are interested in the vaccine can proceed to room 3. Those who need to see the doctor can go to room 5. A psychiatrist is available in room six for assistance if you or any of your children are experiencing undue anxiety symptoms. Mr. Shepherd is in the school office and can fill prescriptions immediately right here. Mr. Coley is in the gymnasium and anyone who can assist with cleaning the school can check in with him. Finally, the WI is organizing assistance for Mr. Newcross's family – if you'd like to help, please ring Margaret at the vicarage."

Immediately the noise level rose as people pushed their chairs back and consulted with their neighbors about what to do. Some of them began to disperse. Louisa caught Stu McKenzie's eye and he winked, a sign of his approval. She was grateful.

Martin came up behind her and took her hand briefly. "I'd better get to room 5. I don't know how many patients there are for me to see, and I need to see as many as I can before I get another emergency call."

She nodded and looked down at the baby, now sleeping in the carrier on her chest.

"Louisa. Take him home. You've done enough."

She was torn. She felt as head teacher her place was here, but she couldn't deny her rising sense of anxiety at continuing to expose James to whatever germs were lurking in the school. No matter what she did she would feel like she was copping out and letting somebody down.

Martin seemed to read her mind. "The school is under control. If anyone needs you, they can telephone the surgery. Take him home, put him to bed, and take a rest yourself." His words were stern but his look was gentle and filled with genuine concern.

She nodded. "Alright. I'll get my coat and then we'll go. But let me know if anyone else is ill or if you have any news from the hospital."

"I will." He stroked her cheek briefly with his thumb, then hoisted his medical bag and strode down the corridor, leaving her to gather her papers.

As she went to her office, she rubbed her neck, sore she was sure from the baby's weight in the front carrier, with the straps running over her shoulders. She promised herself a couple paracetamol and a cool shower after she got him in his cot for a nap. That might even help the tight feeling behind her eyes and the exhaustion headache that she could feel brewing in her temples.


	11. Crisis

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 11 – Crisis**

Martin watched the little convoy pull out of the schoolyard, led by an ambulance with lights and sirens signaling its progress. In the ambulance were Bobby Richards, age 11, and Leah Bridges, age 8, the sickest of the patients he had examined this morning. Both of them showed definite signs of meningitis and their immediate transport to the hospital was the highest priority. Following by car with their parents were Samantha Butler and Jake Collins. These two he had referred to the hospital for lumbar punctures to rule out meningitis. They were most likely suffering from influenza and their symptoms were much milder than those of their classmates. But he couldn't be too careful in an environment like this so they too were on their way to Truro. P.C. Penhale brought up the rear of the little group in his official vehicle, flashing his own siren; he had insisted on providing a police escort to the hospital once again.

Martin felt some small satisfaction at the success of his makeshift clinic at the school. He had prescribed antibiotics for the teachers and staff and several close playmates of the hospitalized children. As a bonus, he'd discovered one undetected middle ear infection and a case of goiter, the latter to be referred to an endocrinologist when things got back to normal. The others had been reluctantly convinced they were perfectly well and not in need of medical treatment.

Aunt Ruth had done her best to separate those suffering with true anxiety disorders from the merely worried. The first category included Tricia Soames whose OCD was once again rearing its ugly head. Ruth had phoned Tricia's treating psychiatrist who had agreed to adjust Tricia's medications and see her for some additional therapy sessions. With a bit of luck she'd be ready to resume teaching when the school re-opened. There was not much to do for the worriers except to warn them against going online and reading horror stories about previous meningitis outbreaks.

As he went back inside to gather his belongings, he stopped at the door to the room where Molly and Pauline were still jabbing arms with the meningococcal vaccine.

He overheard a loud yelp in a deep basso followed by Nurse O'Brien's no nonsense voice saying "Aw, go on then, you big baby. No need to howl. If you'd been through childbirth, now then you would know what pain is." Martin rolled his eyes.

Pauline seemed to be concentrating quite intensely as she drew the serum up and prepared to inject Pippa Woodley. "Small stick," she said, as she found purchase with her needle in Pippa's upper arm. Pippa was looking away, but grimaced only slightly and said nothing while Pauline completed the injection and used a small plaster to cover the injection site. "Take the pamphlet so you know what to expect. Call Doc Martin if you have hives or any other unusual reaction. You may have some swelling where I injected you – that is perfectly normal. If you do, you can relieve it with ice and paracetemol or aspirin." Pauline rattled off her spiel in a low monotone as she disposed of her needle in a bio-waste container and shooed her patient away to make room for the next one, which would leave only Mr. Coley and Tricia Soames waiting in the line.

Martin was impressed with Pauline's performance, not that he had any intention of telling her that. He had been even more pleased when she had reported that Al had regained consciousness this morning and would likely be released from hospital in a couple of days. Even as more victims were being diagnosed, Al positive response to the treatment was very encouraging. All they needed now was a confirmation from the lab that Neisseria was indeed the cause.

When Molly and Pauline were done, he loaded his medical case, a box of patient notes, and the vaccination equipment into his car and headed back to the surgery. He was glad Louisa had been willing to leave the school and take James Henry home. He still felt uneasy about her decision to forego antibiotics in favor of breast-feeding. If she wouldn't quarantine herself, he would at least feel a little bit better if she stayed away from the school which was undoubtedly still crawling with germs.

As he crossed the Platt, Caroline Bosman came running out of the pharmacy, waving her arms. Martin wondered what could possibly be the matter now. He stopped the car and Caroline began shouting before he even opened his door.

"Doc, Doc! Come quickly. It's Mr. Shepherd. He's having some sort of fit!"

Martin leapt out of the car and grabbed his case. Lionel Shepherd had seemed fine up at the school, diligently and efficiently dispensing the antibiotics Martin prescribed. If he was now ill, it had come on unbelievably quickly.

Entering the shop, he saw the chemist lying on the floor, surrounded by a gaggle of teen-aged girls with looks of horror on their faces.

"Give him some air!" Martin barked at them as they skittered away from the poor man convulsing on the floor. "The pharmacy is now closed – you'll have to find somebody else to torment."

He reached in his bag for the tympanic thermometer – he couldn't imagine another week in which it had been given a workout like this. Seeing that Caroline was still gawking from the doorway, he growled, "Don't just stand there – call an ambulance!"

X X X X X

It was nearly an hour later when he finally made it home. He'd had to wait quite a while with Mr. Shepherd for the ambulance. He was glad that Shepherd's temperature had not risen above 104°F – it was a much more manageable level than Mr. Newcross's. Still, meningitis in a man his age was always perilous.

As he mounted the stairs to the surgery, juggling his case and the other supplies from the school and rummaging in his pocket for his house key, Martin could hear James wailing inside. His son sure had a pair of lungs on him. It sounded like the telephone was ringing too.

The front door was locked. This didn't surprise him; Louisa usually used the kitchen door and he had never opened the surgery this morning. Once inside, he found bedlam. The surgery telephone was ringing, the kettle was whistling from the kitchen, the washing machine was rumbling, a radio was playing somewhere, and over it all he could hear James Henry crying – a loud and almost frantic cry.

Dropping his case and supplies on Morwenna's desk, he lunged for the ringing phone first but whoever it was hung up before he answered. Well if was a true emergency, they'd know to call his mobile so he suspected it wasn't urgent.

The baby's cry was even louder now, if that was possible. What in the world was going on? He called out "Louisa?" but even as he said it he was sure she wouldn't hear him over the cacophony. He wondered what could possibly be causing James Henry's obvious distress and decided to find that out first, figuring Louisa must need some assistance. Not even stopping to take off his coat, he took the stairs two at a time, rapping his forehead sharply against the low ceiling half way up.

Rubbing his forehead, he followed his ears to the nursery where he found the baby in his cot, red-faced, howling and waving his limbs frantically, and completely alone. The baby reached for Martin as soon as he appeared. Frowning as he wondered where Louisa might have got to, he picked up his son. Upon inspection, Martin found that other than an extremely wet nappy, there did not seem to be anything obvious the matter with James Henry. This was a relief, but it was disturbing that Louisa was not here. What could she be doing that was so important she hadn't responded to James Henry's crying? Wasn't she the one who had said that anyone who cries gets a cuddle?

He jiggled James against his shoulder and bounced on the balls of his feet a few times. "You're just fine, James. No need to fuss – why I could hear you all the way outside. Shall we find Mummy, hmm? Let's go and find her and see whether she has any lunch for you. I'm hungry too." His low voice seemed to calm the baby a bit. He pulled a fresh pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and quickly found dry nappy and clean clothes for his son, still puzzled about what was going on.

Where could Louisa be that she didn't hear the baby screaming, he wondered? He checked the bedroom first and saw her green woolen dress from this morning hanging neatly on the door of the wardrobe but no Louisa. He realized she might not hear James if she were showering, but when he poked his head in the en suite bath, he didn't finder her either; just a damp towel and the scent of her shampoo to let him know she'd had a shower. In her new study, the radio was playing and her papers were spread on the desk but he saw no other sign of her. Now he was really worried. Where could she be? He switched off the radio and the light and carried the baby down the stairs.

The living room was empty and so was the kitchen. The only signs of life were the whistling kettle, nearly boiled dry now, and the teapot and Louisa's favorite yellow mug set nearby. He was relieved that there wasn't any sign of a break-in but there were not very many other places in the house she could be and panic was beginning to overwhelm him. He could feel the effects of adrenaline kicking in – sweating palms, tachycardia, and a flutter in his stomach.

He switched off the kettle and the room went quiet. "Where did Mummy go, James?" He made an effort to keep his voice steady for James Henry's sake but even he could hear the sharp edge of fear in his own words. If she had been in the surgery, she would have heard him come in. And wouldn't he have seen her when he came in if she were taking the bin out? And he couldn't imagine her going further than that and leaving the baby behind. In fact, there would have been no need for her to even do that as he recalled emptying the bin himself this morning before heading over to the school.

Worry nagged at him as he looked around for a note. He thought he might check his mobile for a text gone unnoticed in the hubbub and was reaching to pull it out of his pocket when he heard a low moan.

"Louisa!" The word caught in his throat.

The sound was coming from the scullery, half-masked by the periodic rumble of the washing machine. Running through the door still clutching the baby to his chest, he found her, sprawled on the cold slate floor behind the dryer. She was surrounded by an upended basket and the load of clothes she had obviously been trying to carry. He knelt beside her and took her hand. Her eyes squinted at the light and her lips were moving. There was a small scratch on her face where it had grazed the door to the dryer on the way down; the visible droplets of blood made him immediately queasy. He heard her moan again and then he heard screaming. He looked at James to comfort him and realized with a shock that the baby wasn't the one screaming. He was.


	12. Rescue

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 12 – Rescue**

Oh, Louisa, he thought, not you, not now. How had he missed this? How had she talked him into skipping the antibiotics? What was going to happen to James? How could she have done this to him? How could he have let this happen? So stupid - how could he have been so stupid? How could she have been so stupid? His mind was filled with a flood of conflicting emotions, fear, doubt, panic, anger, self-loathing and others he couldn't identify. As he searched her beloved face, he couldn't help but think not now. He couldn't lose her now, not after they at last had begun to find a way to make each other happy, after years of missteps and lost opportunities.

Martin continued to stare at Louisa, willing his medical training to overcome the horror he felt looking at her, collapsed on the floor. Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned again but this time he could tell she was definitely trying to say something.

"Ba . . . ba . . . by." Her voice was faint and sounded exhausted. But it meant she was still conscious, which was critical.

He took her hand. "James is right here, Louisa. He's just fine. I'll put him right here beside you." Martin made a supreme effort to keep his voice calm. As he spoke, he noticed her trying to nod her head and grimacing as she did so. Damn, it _was_ her neck.

He looked around for a safe place to deposit the baby so he could undertake a more thorough examination. He righted the laundry basket and spread a folded towel in the bottom before placing his son inside.

"Stay with me, Louisa, stay alert," he pleaded. "James is here; you can hold his hand if you want to. I need to go and get my medical bag. Don't go to sleep." As he said this he rolled her from her side to her back, cushioning her head on a pile of laundry and placing her hand near the baby's. He couldn't help but stroke her cheek, burning with fever, before racing to the surgery for his supplies.

On his way back through the kitchen, he pulled out his mobile and dialed 9-9-9.

"Emergency Dispatch."

"This is Doctor Ellingham in Portwenn," he began, a bit breathlessly. "I need an ambulance . . . no, I need an AIR ambulance, a helicopter, immediately."

"What is the situation?"

"I have a woman, 38, with probable bacterial meningitis, also sustained injury, possible head or neck trauma, in a fall. She needs immediate transport to hospital."

"Roger that. Where should I direct the helicopter?"

"They land at the harbor. Portwenn harbor." He felt a sense of relief; not a word about inclement weather preventing the helicopter from coming out.

"I am scrambling the helicopter now. Expect arrival in 14 minutes."

"Right. Good." Martin ended the call and once again knelt beside Louisa.

He swiftly located supplies in his case to start a drip, and prepped her arm to insert the cannula into her vein. He saw her eyelids open, squinting against the light, and her lips move.

"Mmmm. Mar . . . Martin." It took great effort for her to speak.

"Louisa. I'm here. Don't try to speak. I'm going to start an intravenous line and administer the medications you need. Stay with me now. Don't go to sleep, Louisa, please don't go to sleep." He methodically injected ceftriaxone, vancomycin, and dexamethasone into the port.

He propped the drip bag on the dryer door so it was elevated and prepared an injection of Caldolor. As he did so his mind began to race again. How was he going to get Louisa and James to the harbor to meet the helicopter? He could carry one or the other of them but not both, plus manage his supplies and the drip bag. It would take several trips to load everything into the car, and he'd have to leave James alone one place or the other to do so. Could he do it before the helicopter arrived? And would the helicopter know where to land if there was no one to show them?

He was going to need to ask for help, something he had always been loath to do. His first thought was Penhale – surely he would be able to handle the simple matter of flagging down the helicopter. But as he reached for his mobile to call the constable, he realized that Penhale was in Truro, or perhaps on his way back, but in any event not in Portwenn – there hadn't been time for him to get to Truro with the sick children and then back.

Who would be down by the harbor? He fumbled with his mobile again and dialed.

"Portwenn sea rescue." Ross answered the lifeboat crew's emergency line immediately, to Martin's relief.

"It's Doctor Ellingham. Louisa is very ill and I've called for a helicopter. Can you get anyone down to the harbor to wave them in? They should be here in about 10 minutes – I've still got to figure out how to get her down there.

Instead of a response, he heard Ross shouting. "Hey, it's Doc Martin and Louisa. They need some help – he's got an air ambulance coming to get her . . ." Ross's words were drowned out by the loud sounds of a crowd, all speaking at once.

Martin couldn't wait for a more specific response. He set the telephone down and began working out what he needed to take in the helicopter. He checked his bag to make sure it was fully stocked and found he wasn't completely out of anything except dexamethasone, a lack he couldn't remedy now anyway with Mr. Shepherd in an ambulance of his own. He took Louisa's vital signs once more. Satisfied she wasn't getting any worse, he turned his attention to James Henry. He grabbed a tiny jacket off a peg in the scullery and was just attempting to button his son into it when there was the sound of pounding steps and voices in the surgery.

"Doc? Doc Martin! Where are you?" It was Ross's voice.

"In here. We're in here!" Martin shouted in response, carrying the baby with him as he strode into the kitchen.

Within moments, Ross found his way into the kitchen, followed closely by Eddie Rix, Mike Chubb, Pauline, Pippa, Caroline and several others whose names Martin didn't immediately recall. Bringing up the rear was Ruth Ellingham.

"Ross. I needed you to go to the harbor, meet the helicopter." Martin's frustration was evident.

"No worries, Doc. I was in the pub when you called - John took three blokes down to the harbor to meet up with the helo and get everything ready. I rounded up the rest of the crew to carry the backboard down."

"Er, right. She's in here." Martin was overwhelmed at the outpouring of support, and his voice choked a bit with emotion.

"Doc, I'll get the backboard, is it still in the cupboard with the Hoover?" asked Pauline.

"Yes, through there." He gave her a grateful glance, and then turned to go back to Louisa.

"Here, give the baby to me," said Pippa, reaching out for James. Martin was reluctant to hand him over and hesitated.

"Martin! Ruth pulled at Martin's sleeve to gain his attention. "Don't be stupid. Give her the baby – we'll pack him up and drive him over to meet you at the hospital."

Martin took a deep breath. "Right, then. His carrier is on the sofa. There should be a bottle in the fridge. Louisa's nappy bag should be in the kitchen – on the back of a chair." He paused. "Oh, and he'll need his rabbit."

Ruth looked at him blankly while Pippa cradled the baby.

"His toy – his rabbit. It's in the cot. He needs it to go to sleep." He ignored the bemused stares from the fishermen and patted his son on the head, grateful that James did not seem at all feverish.

At that moment, Pauline and Mike returned with the backboard. Martin motioned for them to go through to the scullery. He held Louisa's head still as Ross strapped her to the board. Martin handed his medical case to Caroline and placed the drip bag on Louisa's chest.

"Here we go then, on three." Louisa moaned once as the men hefted the board and then she was still. Pauline held the doors open as the others maneuvered Louisa out the door and down the steps, Caroline following behind. As they started down the road towards the harbor, Martin heard the welcome sound of the helicopter blades approaching.

X X X X X

Martin paced around the tiny cubicle in the emergency department like a caged lion. Louisa lay on the exam couch in a hospital gown, waiting for the neurology consultant to perform a lumbar puncture to test for meningitis. Martin was furious about the wait and his anxiety over her condition was growing. They'd seen only the triage team and an Accident and Emergency registrar, despite the fact that he'd spoken himself to the hospital from the helicopter and apprised them of Louisa's condition. What was wrong with these people? Didn't they know an emergency when they saw one?

"James." Louisa's voice was weak but he was so glad she was still conscious.

He returned to her side and took her right hand, the one without the IV line, between both of his. "James is fine. He's with Pippa. Pippa and Ruth."

"Pippa." Louisa seemed to be processing that with difficulty. "Too young."

"Pippa's too young?"

She tried to shake her head and grimaced. "James. Too young. Need to be seven."

"What does James need to be seven for, Louisa?" he asked her urgently, not understanding what she meant.

"Pippa. Year 2. Need to be seven." She was getting confused, which was not a good sign. Her eyelids closed and he feared she was losing the last tie to consciousness.

Just then the nurse came back into the room, carrying a tray of instruments under a blue sterile drape.

"Where's that neurologist?" Martin demanded, outraged that Louisa still hadn't been examined by the consultant.

"He's coming. There is only one of him and he's had five LPs before you and he has other patients to see to as well." She did not take kindly to Martin's attitude. "I've brought the LP tray; he can start as soon as he gets here."

"Tell him to hurry up!"

She sniffed. "I am certain he is well aware of the urgency of this case, Mr. Glasson. You'll just have to be patient."

"I'm not Mr. Glasson. I'm Doctor Ellingham."

"But you are the husband, right? Only immediate family members are allowed in here." She looked dubious.

He didn't know how to answer. "I'm her GP! And I'm not leaving," he blustered, daring the officious woman, who couldn't have weighed more than seven stone, to try to throw him out.

She left without another word, and Martin took Louisa's hand. He saw on the monitor that her temp was holding steady at 104°F. He stroked her hair away from her face and ran his thumb over her neck, with its muscles rigid in a classic meningitis symptom. She was definitely unconscious now. He looked at the clock again. What use was the helicopter if they still had to wait ages at the hospital?

He continued to pace, racking his brain for some way to help her, to save her. He'd been both a doctor and a patient before but never had he sat by helplessly waiting for someone else to treat a loved one. This was unbearable.

The tray of instruments tempted him. He'd done plenty of lumbar punctures in his days as a senior house officer and one or two during his GP course. But they hadn't been part of his routine practice for years – not since he'd started out in general surgery. It was never a good idea to treat a patient you were close to, and if he gave into the temptation to perform the procedure and anything went wrong, he would not be able to forgive himself. If only the ruddy neurologist would get here!

His clinical mind never would have condoned it. But his love for Louisa and his fear of losing her, or even of watching her in distress, was more than he could stand. In a rare moment of emotion, he threw caution to the wind and made the decision to sod the bloody consultant and to perform the procedure himself. It was a relief to be able to actually do something rather than standing by and wringing his hands.

Taking a deep breath, he gently rolled her onto her side and untied the hospital gown so he could see her back and visualize her spine. He ran his hand down her back, memorizing again her lovely body, her soft, pale skin, the curve of her shoulders and hips, the vulnerable nape of her neck. Any other time, he would be compelled to bend and drop a line of kisses along her spine. Now, he could only think of plunging a needle between her vertebrae to sample her spinal fluid and confirm whether or not she had meningitis.

He found latex gloves on the shelf and donned a pair from the box marked XL. He swabbed the site with betadine to disinfect it, and used his surgeon's practiced fingers to locate the precise spot to insert the needle. He injected lidocaine first to numb the area and waited impatiently for it to take effect. When she no longer responded to the touch of his fingers, he sunk the needle into the dural sac and drew out a sample of her cerebrospinal fluid. He immediately noticed that the fluid was cloudy, a tell-tale sign of bacterial meningitis. When he measured the CSF pressure using the manometer in the instrument tray, he found it was elevated – over twenty - another sure sign his diagnosis was correct. He swiftly injected the CSF sample from the syringe into the waiting test tube. He capped the tube and placed a plaster over the tiny wound in her back. He was just tying her gown when he heard steps.

"My God! What are you doing?"

Martin didn't even look at the intruder. "I'm doing what you should be doing - an immediate lumbar puncture on a patient with clear signs of bacterial meningitis."

"Martin! You can't do that." The voice was familiar. "You can't treat family members, and you can't treat anyone here, you don't have privileges."

Martin spun around. "Chris?"

"I came down as soon as I heard Louisa was here. Pauline called me."

"I need to get her out of here and up to a private room. I started the drip in Portwenn, but she needs more dexamethasone that I had on hand, and . . ."

Chris cut him off. "Martin, stop. You need to stop. Let us take care of her. You just be her partner, her family. Let us handle the medical care."

"I don't even count as her family." Martin swallowed hard.

Chris patted his shoulder. "Of course you do. You leave the details to me – they won't give you any trouble. Now you did great getting her here, just like you did with all the others. We'll manage the doctoring. You focus on staying strong for Louisa and James Henry, and let me sort out the rest"

"I let her down; I didn't protect her. I let her talk me out of putting her on prophylactic antibiotics." Martin's voice was cracking with grief.

"Martin, don't beat yourself up. She's here and we'll do everything in our power to help her get well."

Martin nodded and took Louisa's hand again. He knew Chris was right, that he was too close to the situation to provide optimal medical care. But giving up control was never easy for him and surrendering Louisa's care to unnamed, untested and possibly incompetent strangers seemed impossible. But even as he weighed the decision, he knew his emotions were running ragged and he was in no condition to treat anyone. He swallowed hard, staring first at Louisa's unconscious form and then at the instruments beside him. He stripped off his gloves and binned them, then handed Chris the vial with Louisa's CSF and hung his head. "Well go on then, send it to the lab."

Glossary:

CSF: cerebrospinal fluid. With bacterial meningitis, the CSF is the primary method of diagnosis. The pressure of the fluid is elevated and the fluid itself appears cloudy from protein left by infection. A culture will reveal the precise bacteria causing the infection and other tests can be performed by the lab to identify the problem before the culture, which can take 2-3 days to grow, is completed.

Lumbar puncture: Also called an LP. Inserting a needle into the sac around the spine to withdraw CSF for testing.

Vancomycin: An antibiotic of last resort. It is sometimes used in combination with other antibiotics to treat meningitis. Martin's use of it here suggests he is even more concerned about Louisa's health than that of the other patients.


	13. Vigil

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 13 – Vigil**

Martin was exhausted. It wasn't by any means the first time he'd spent 50 straight hours in a hospital – it had been common in his house officer days and even beyond when necessary to provide optimal medical care to a patient in critical condition. But sitting and worrying did not bring with it the adrenaline rush of performing surgery, and the deep weariness he now felt was a new experience. Here he sat, on the hard plastic chair in the tiny, glass-walled hospital room next to the nurse's station. On his left was Louisa, unconscious in her mechanical bed, and on his right, James Henry, sedated in his cot, receiving intravenous antibiotics to stave off the disease ravaging his mother. They were here, in the hands of Claire Trescott and her team, and Martin could do nothing but wait and wonder and wrestle with the fact that he had not been able to protect them. His one talent, his medical expertise, had failed him

Aunt Ruth and Pippa had brought James Henry in shortly after Louisa had been moved to the high dependency unit. Trescott had been adamant about treating the baby with intravenous antibiotics immediately, given the likelihood he would contract whatever Louisa had. Martin had held his son's tiny body still for the lumbar puncture; willing himself to stay steady as Trescott herself performed the procedure. The initial indications were that James was healthy; if the culture of his spinal fluid proved negative for _Neisseria_, he would be released. It was unorthodox to have James Henry lodged here in Louisa's room, but Martin had been unwilling to let either one of them out of his sight and he had proved more stubborn than the hospital bureaucrats.

James was sedated four times a day to facilitate the infusion of antibiotics– the sedation required to prevent him from disturbing the drip line. Even when the sedation wore off, he was groggy and Martin found it extraordinarily hard to watch his normally lively son so still and quiet. For now he could only maintain his vigil and hope that, once the infusions were over, James would regain his usual bubbly personality. Martin was surprised at how profoundly he missed James Henry's grin and the sound of his giggles; in five short months his son had changed Martin in ways he was only beginning to comprehend.

When Louisa had first been admitted to hospital, it seemed that the whole village had crowded around the door to her room, trying to see her, to speak with him, to press him about her prognosis and that of the other villagers. Martin could do nothing but bluster and send them away, afraid he might break down right in front of them, and unaccustomed to having his own emotions raging so close to the surface.

Since Wednesday evening, Aunt Ruth had positioned herself at the door, defending it like a dragon, and for that he was grateful. He had even allowed himself to let go of his concern for Ruth's health once it had been confirmed from the first few cases that the disease was indeed being caused by _Neisseria_; as a prison employee, Ruth had received the meningococcal jab five years earlier and should not be susceptible to this particular illness. Still, he knew he ought to send her home to get some rest. He wasn't sure how the farm chores were getting done with Al still hospitalized and Ruth insisting on staying with Martin while he waited for Louisa to respond to treatment.

At four o'clock, there was a knock on the door and Ruth poked her head in.

"Martin, Pauline would like to speak with you. May she come in?"

He lifted his head wearily from his hands and nodded. Pauline had stayed behind to man the surgery when he'd dashed off to the helicopter with Louisa, and she had been a godsend in the days since, holding down the fort, as it were.

"Doc?" Pauline hung in the doorway, her voice tentative, lacking its usual bounciness. Ruth prodded her forward and crowded into the room behind her.

"Pauline." His professional eye noticed her drawn face and her pallor even before her bright clothes and gaudy jewelry. "Are you feeling well?"

"Just tired, Doc. A lot going on; between organizing things at the surgery, checking on Al and making sure Bert doesn't worry himself to death, I've had my hands full."

"Er, yes. How is Al?"

She brightened visibly. "Improving. Doctor Trescott says we can take him home in the morning if his temperature is normal."

He nodded. He should be pleased – pleased for Al and Pauline and Bert and pleased that his patient was recovering and even pleased for himself that his treatment of Al had resulted in such a prompt recovery with no apparent long-term adverse effects. Instead he was consumed with jealousy. Bert's son was safe. Pauline's beloved was going home. It seemed so unfair.

"Yeah. He'll need to keep having antibiotic infusions – but I can see to that. And I don't know when he'll be strong enough to go back to work but we'll just take that one day at a time."

"So are you planning to stay here or go back to Bristol?"

She sighed. "Not sure yet; it depends on a few things."

Martin's eyes wandered back to Louisa and Pauline's face fell.

"Martin, don't you want to know how things are at the surgery?" Ruth asked, gently.

He said nothing. It was hard to muster interest for anything but Louisa and James.

Ruth came to his rescue again. "Things are under control at the surgery, aren't they, Pauline."

"Well Doctor Parsons came by yesterday and this morning to sort out the repeat prescriptions and give me some directions on who could be rescheduled for later and who needed to go to Wadebridge. Doctor Cardew made some home visits – the last Archer child – Andy I think his name is – was sent up here yesterday and Melissa Nichols too -you know, the teacher's wife - but I think that's it. And the locum arrived this afternoon."

"Locum?"

"Yeah. Doctor Parsons set it up. She and her husband checked into the Wilson Hotel and will be here for two weeks."

"She? It's not that nitwit Dibbs, is it?" Martin said, sharply.

"God, no." Pauline shook her head and shuddered and Martin wondered again what Pauline's experience with Diane and Gavin Dibbs had been and what about that encounter had spurred Pauline to flee Portwenn.

Pauline continued. "Her name's Doctor Weston . . ."

"Sylvia! What's she doing here?"

Pauline was taken aback. "How should I know? Doctor Parsons told me that a locum was coming from London and asked would I let her in at eleven this morning and that's what I did." Her tone grew suspicious. "What's the matter with her? She seemed perfectly nice."

Martin ignored Pauline's defensiveness. His mind strayed from Louisa's condition for the first time all morning. He literally couldn't imagine what Sylvia Weston was doing serving as a locum – she had a successful private practice in London in addition to her clinical work and her teaching at St. Mary's. She wouldn't need to take a stint as locum in Cornwall to pick up a few extra pence for the holidays.

"Martin? Who is she?" Ruth inquired, giving him a curious look.

"Sylvia? She was my tutor in London when I did my GP training. But I've no idea what she's doing in Cornwall."

"Well right now, she's replacing the dressing on Mr. Coley's right wrist, and then she has to see Mrs. Averill about her bursitis and at 4:30 Maureen Fenn is bringing the twins in for throat cultures. And Anne Robinson called to say she can't feel her baby moving so Doctor Weston has her coming in for a Doppler at 5."

"Pauline! You know better than to discuss my patients in public."

Pauline rolled her eyes.

"Don't mind me, Martin, assuming I'm the public to which you're referring," said Ruth, tartly. "After forty years as a psychiatrist, I think I know a little something about discretion."

Martin snorted and glared at Pauline, who returned his black look.

Taking charge of the situation, Ruth shooed the younger woman towards the door. "Pauline, give Al my best. You ought to go and see him before that harridan ward sister tells you visiting hours are over."

"Right." Pauline's voice softened. "I'll stop by in the morning when Bert and I come to get Al."

Martin saw her gaze linger on the baby, motionless in the cot, and then her hand reach out to stroke his little face. Martin flinched as he thought of her touching the baby without gloves. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Pauline reconsidered, and settled instead on stroking the ear of James Henry's plush bunny, tucked in the cot like a sad little sentry.

X X X X X

Martin's eyelids were drooping when he felt rather than heard someone enter the room. After a moment, a hand came to rest on his shoulder and he jumped in surprise. No one besides Louisa dared touch him uninvited. He spun around and nearly knocked Tracy Parsons off her feet.

"Martin. Sorry to startle you. How is she?" Tracy's velvety voice bore the unmistakable burr of Cornwall.

"About the same. Holding her own."

"And the baby?"

"He's just sleeping, now. The medications make him groggy and they sedate him when he's having his infusions so he doesn't pull his drip line out – better than putting him in restraints." As he said this, Martin stroked James Henry's forehead softly, pleased that it remained cool and not feverish or clammy.

"What about you, Martin?" she added softly, "How are you holding up?"

"Doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter. You need to keep your own strength up or you'll end up in here right alongside Louisa and won't be able to do her any good. Chris tells me you haven't been home, haven't slept or eaten."

He shrugged. "I've no use for hospital food. What time is it anyway? Isn't it late? What are you doing here?"

"It is late – or rather early – nearly one by now. I've brought you some supper. I'm going to watch you eat it and then I'll stay with Louisa and James while you get some rest." She handed him a canvas carrier bag. "Lamb stew. There's bread and a bottle of water, a couple of pears and fruitcake. Tea in the flask." She looked at him sternly. "Go on, then. Eat up. I'm not budging until you do." It was a no-nonsense voice that Martin was certain put the fear of God into her children.

The food smelled good and he realized he was hungry, something he hadn't noticed until she mentioned it. He pulled the various containers out of the bag, laid his meal out on the small table beside Louisa's bed and began to eat.

Tracy's hair was pulled back in a braid and Martin could see her freckles and the green eyes that had won the heart of his friend back in their med school days. She was taking stock of Louisa and James Henry with the practiced eyes of a professional; she had been a ward sister in this very hospital not that long ago. Now she was the nursing director at a care home for the elderly but she still knew her way around a hospital bed like only an insider could.

"Vitals look good."

He nodded, taking another bite of bread.

From her handbag, Tracy took a stack of magazines, a hair brush and a bottle of hand lotion.

"What's that then?" he asked between mouthfuls.

"Just for us girls. I can't imagine you're going to read her the latest celebrity gossip." She selected a magazine and switched on a light by the bed. "Look here, now, Louisa, it's an interview with Robert Pattinson about the next Twilight movie. Isn't he a dish?" She showed Louisa a glossy photo spread, speaking to her as though Louisa were conscious and able to respond. "So do you prefer Team Edward or Team Jacob, hmm?"

"Team what? I don't think she follows football." He was utterly lost in this conversation and wasn't sure whether it was his exhaustion or her being female that was causing it.

Tracy chuckled. "Definitely not football. She likes you, though, doesn't she, so she must prefer the snarly ones. I'm guessing she goes for the werewolf over the vampire."

Martin shook his head in bewilderment as Tracy began reading aloud He was quite certain he didn't want to know what she was talking about.

Tracy's voice was soothing and as he ate Martin found himself half-listening as she brought the silent Louisa up to date on Daniel Craig's new movie, Paul McCartney's wedding and the Duchess of Cambridge's holiday wardrobe.

Martin finished his dinner and packed the utensils away. He left the pears for later and set the fruitcake aside – maybe Ruth would want it.

"Feel better?" Tracy asked, her reading glasses slipping to the end of her nose.

"Yes, thank you. It was good of you to come. But you need to go home now, get back to Chris and the children."

She shook her head. "Martin, you need to sleep. Go down to the changing rooms and grab a shower and find some scrubs then take a nap. There's a relief room on this floor, but my suggestion is that you go over to the ambulatory surgery centre. After some experimenting, Chris and I have found that the beds in there are much nicer and no one will disturb you until after seven."

Martin didn't even want to think about how they had discovered this. "I can't leave."

She stood up to her full height, still nearly a foot shorter than Martin, and chastised him. "You're going to bed, young man, whether you want to or not."

He looked indignant. "I'll decide when I'm going to sleep. You're not my mother."

She laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. "That is the first true sign of the Martin Ellingham I know that I've seen since I arrived. Get some rest, you big oaf. I promise – I'll track you down if anything changes, anything at all." When he didn't move, she put her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. "People want to help, you know. If you'll let us. I can't make her wake up – I would if I could. So let me do this. It's the least I can do."

With half a sob, he hugged her back, awkwardly, almost spastically. He returned to Louisa's side and kissed her forehead gently and took her right hand between both of his for a moment, willing her with his eyes to wake up. After a long moment, he went to the cot and lifted James gently. Cuddling the sleeping baby to his shoulder, he rocked him briefly before kissing his forehead and then tucking him back in bed next to his bunny. The baby stirred and sighed and then put his thumb in his mouth.

Martin backed slowly out of the room, watching Tracy spread lotion on Louisa's hands with expert gentleness.

I love you, Louisa Glasson, he thought as he looked at her one last time from the doorway. I haven't shown you enough or told you enough. You need to wake up so I can let you know how much you mean to me. The door closed quietly and he moved down the corridor towards the lift with a very heavy heart.


	14. Incoherence

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 14 - Incoherence**

She was flying and she was falling. She was all alone and she was surrounded by a crowd – a huge crowd of noisy strangers who turned their backs to her. She felt hot and cold, impossibly light and unbearably heavy. She was hunted by a tiger which turned into a dragon and was slain by a prince. She wished she could have seen his eyes – they might have been familiar.

_She's a Killer Queen, gunpowder and gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind, anytime . . . _

_I saw Lon Chaney, Jr. walking with The Queen doing the werewolves of London. I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's . . . _

She was in the desert, under a pyramid, with the weight of it pressing down on her chest. Listen, you lot; who can give me the formula for the volume of a pyramid if the base is sixty-four square meters and the top is eight elephants high? An asp curled out of the pyramid and sunk its fangs into her arm. Somebody cried. She couldn't find her face. She wondered when she'd lost it and why no one had bothered to tell her.

Blackboards, chalk, the smell of sweaty children. There was something missing. She was searching for something but she couldn't quite remember what it was. 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27, 30. Name the principal exports of Scotland in order of importance. What is the capital of Bulgaria and why does anybody care? Divorced, beheaded, she died, divorced, beheaded, she survived. I before E except after C. Rule Britannia. All you need is love.

There was someone she needed. There was someone who needed her. Why couldn't she focus? She heard voices. Was this heaven? Or was it Paddington Station? She wanted her mum. She wanted her bed. She wanted something she couldn't remember.

"You're so very beautiful."

"You're gruff, monosyllabic and, well, rude."

"You do have a regular dental hygiene routine, don't you?"

"It would be nice to see you out of that suit."

"Delusional romantic attachments."

"He just said the words 'virgin's eyeballs'."

_I get by with a little help from my friends, ooh, gonna try with a little help from my friends . . . _

_Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down . . ._

The room went black, and then it was blindingly light and she wanted to close her eyes but she couldn't. Did she have eyes if her face was missing? Should she ring the police?

"You have to let them tease you."

"I was expressing concern for your welfare."

"There are twenty things about you that are crap."

"I'm going to need a stool sample."

"I have lots more Prada at home."

"Are you wearing perfume?"

"You are an extraordinary man."

"I was wrong."

She was alone on an island. She had to find someone. Who was it? Whom was she forgetting? Where was the ship – had it sailed without her? If she was going to be a castaway, she needed a better wardrobe.

_I'll send an SOS to the world, I hope that someone gets my, I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle . . ._

_Rolling in the deep, we could have had it all . . ._

She was under water. She opened her mouth to scream and found it was dry and her tongue thick. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. A pinprick of light hovered above her. She wanted to swim towards it but her limbs wouldn't move. Alas, it was not water after all; it was glue. The fish around her were suspended in the stickiness and couldn't move either. Poor fish. Don't they die if they stop moving? Does a sea of glue have high tide?

_Please, please don't leave me. I always say how I don't need you but it's always gonna come right back to this . . ._

_I'm waiting for you. With or without you, I can't live, with or without you._

"Any chance you could be pregnant?"

"They have babies in America."

"I can't bear to be without you."

"A woman doesn't have to be having her period to get a bit emotional."

"At your age, those extra pounds will be hard to shift."

"That is not our baby."

Stir the baby. Then dance. Jiggle him.

Baby.

Where WAS the baby? Her baby.

Her head hurt. It definitely hurt. And her arms. And cold fingers were touching her. There were sounds but she couldn't identify them.

Someone was crying. Was the baby crying? Anyone who cries gets a cuddle.

Pain overwhelmed her. She heard someone speaking but couldn't understand what was being said. She was too tired to listen.

Above her was a light. Like a firefly. Could she catch it? She was pretty sure she had hands but they didn't seem to be obeying her. Off with their heads.

She decided she was not alone after all. A hand was holding hers. A big hand. A warm hand. One she had felt before. Maybe this was who she was looking for.

Martin. The name came to her like a bolt of lightning out of the fog. Martin. Martin was here. He always did like to hold her hand.

She relaxed. It was going to be okay. She just needed to let him know she was still here.

Before she could find a way to squeeze his hand, everything went black again as she slid back into the abyss.

Author's Note:

With appreciation to Queen ("Killer Queen"), Warren Zevon ("Werewolves of London"), the Beatles ("A Little Help From My Friends"), Simon & Garfunkel ("Bridge Over Troubled Water"), the Police ("Message in a Bottle"), Adele ("Rolling in the Deep"), P!NK ("Please Don't Leave Me"), and U2 ("With or Without You") for providing the soundtrack of Louisa's dreams.


	15. Advent

**Family Matters – Chapter 15**

**Advent**

"Rubbish." Martin startled himself by saying aloud what was on his mind. Complete and utter rubbish. He looked over at Louisa, trying to discern any sign that she was hearing what he was reading to her from the glossy magazine that Tracy had left behind. There was none. He stroked her hair back from her face and let his fingers linger on her cheek. "I wouldn't wake up to hear this rubbish either," he grumbled to himself.

He stood up and stretched. The borrowed scrubs felt strange – he somehow felt less than himself without his customary suit and tie. The suit was like a school uniform – it sounded horrible in principle but once you were used to it, it was like a second skin. He was anxious for Ruth to return; she had offered to stop by the surgery and pack a bag for him. When she arrived, he could shave, something else he was dying to do, and put his own clothes on.

His reaction to the scrubs surprised him. He had literally spent years nearly living in scrubs-it had been second nature to pull on a fresh set as part of the pre-operative routine. It was a shock to find that they now made him uncomfortable. He felt exposed. He found they had insufficient pockets. He worried about who else had worn them. Even the smell of them bothered him; the universal smell of the harsh detergent used by all the hospital laundries he had ever encountered. Scrubs were the uniform of surgeons. Rejecting them was a sign – just another sign of the changes that had happened in his life; a sign that perhaps he hadn't made the wrong choice taking a pass on returning to surgery.

He picked up another magazine, frowning at the title "Playful Parenting". He opened to the lead article and began to read.

_**Five Tips for Making the Most of Baby's First Christmas.**_

_Baby's first Christmas is nearly here. Your chance to start making a lifetime of happy memories begins now. Even if your baby is too young to taste gingerbread or pull crackers this year, he can enjoy the holiday and will come to love Christmas as much as you do. Our experts have put together a list of tips to make your baby's first Christmas a magical experience for the whole family._

Who writes this stuff? Martin mused, grumpily. They actually pay people to write this drivel?

_Tip Number One - Focus on all five senses. There are beautiful decorations to see, scents of delicious things cooking, lovely holiday music to listen to, and new things to touch – crinkly wrapping paper, prickly evergreen boughs, shiny new toys, maybe even snow. Baby may even be old enough to taste a holiday treat – like sweet potatoes or apple sauce. Be sure to be aware of the opportunities to explore all these new sensations with your little one. Also be careful not to overload baby's senses with too many unfamiliar things all at once._

Decorations. Martin thought about Louisa's wish for a real Christmas tree. Why had he been so foolish as to deny her that simple request? What a thing to row about when she was ill! It wouldn't have hurt him to agree. Filled with remorse, he cleared his throat, and continued reading, the insufferable pap standing as some form of penance for not giving her the last thing she had asked of him.

_Tip Number Two. There is no time like the present to start your own traditions. Our favorite? New jammies on Christmas Eve! It's a great tradition that leads to even cuter Christmas morning photos. Reading Christmas stories at bedtime is something everyone can enjoy. Hanging stockings, Christmas lunch, singing carols – your baby may be too little to understand them entirely but if you plan your own traditions now, by the time he gets old enough to remember, they will be things that he has always known and experienced. It is also a great opportunity to review the traditions you and your partner bring to the occasion from your own families. Try to pick a few from each side to connect baby to his roots._

Hopefully we won't be connecting James to any of my family's Christmas traditions, he thought. Lonely holidays home with a housekeeper while his parents went to parties or, worse, traveled the globe. Christmas dinner in the hospital cafeteria between surgical procedures wasn't any better. His only real holiday tradition had been Auntie Joan's mince pies and he realized that was one tradition that James would unfortunately never experience.

_Tip Number Three. It is better to give than to receive. Make sure there are gifts from your baby to the important people in his life as well as presents for him. A lovely framed photo of baby makes a great gift for doting grandparents as does an ornament for the tree made by tracing his hand or foot. If baby has a regular carer, be sure to put something under the tree for her too. Don't forget your partner. Not only will his face light up when he finds a gift from his darling child under the tree, but it will serve as a reminder that he should be helping baby choose a gift for you!_

God! It was hard enough to think of a gift of his own to give Louisa, but he was supposed to come up with a gift from James too? Good lord, this was hard. He had debated Louisa's gifts a long time before ordering them – he was now glad he had planned ahead as they were already safely at the surgery. But something from James? As he thought about this he suddenly had a memory of his nanny taking him to the chemist's to buy a Christmas gift for his own mother. He couldn't have been more than four or five. He remembered being so pleased that his pocket money had been sufficient to buy the largest bottle of scent on the shelf. He hadn't thought of that in years. Probably for the best. He'd been shattered to find his gift in the bin on New Year's Day. "You silly boy. You know I always wear Shalimar. What were you thinking?"

_Tip Number Four. Be flexible. Babies are unpredictable. Try not to get upset if he likes the wrappings more than the presents. Don't force a crying baby to sit on Santa's lap for a photo. There are many ways to be creative. You can hold the baby and stand near Santa or have someone baby already trusts dress up as Santa for the photo. He might need to sleep just when you wanted to sit down to dinner or need a change just as you're leaving for church. Remember he's only little once. _

He remembered Louisa's wish for a photo of James Henry for a Christmas card. The little red suit she'd bought. He needed her to wake up. He couldn't possibly cope with this on his own.

_Tip Number Five. Enjoy yourselves. Don't get so wrapped up in creating the perfect holiday moment that you forget to celebrate yourself. Be happy. Make sure to enjoy being with your baby and your partner. Be grateful for what you have and what you can share._

He couldn't help but imagine what a lovely scene Louisa and James Henry would make in front of a Christmas tree, smiling up at him. He felt the pricking of tears in his eyes thinking about it. Clearing his throat, as though that would clear away the emotion, he put the magazine down on the table and rang the nurse's station. His voice was gruff as he barked into the microphone. "It's time for the drip bag to be changed. Is anyone coming or should I do it myself."

X X X X X

"I have good news for you," announced Claire Trescott, without preamble, as she entered Louisa's room that afternoon. "It's been damned difficult to get a culture going on James Henry's CSF because you started the antibiotics before we did the LP. But the lab finally has concluded there is no evidence of _Neisseria_. He's fine and we can stop the infusions and release him."

Martin visibly sagged in the chair.

"You don't look very excited. I thought you'd be pleased by the news."

"I am, I am. Just stunned. Stunned and grateful."

"It will take a few hours for the sedatives to pass out of his system entirely, but he should be back to himself by this evening."

Martin looked at the sleeping baby. "Right. Good."

"Is there someone who can look after him? It would be best if he were kept away from the hospital now that he doesn't need treatment – he's not ill now but he still could contract meningitis, or even something else."

"Er, I'll get it sorted." He wasn't sure that he could bear being parted from his son and he'd have to think hard to find someone who had time to care for James as well as someone he'd trust to do so on a full-time basis. But that was a small detail. James was healthy and that was the important thing for now.

"I'm sure you will," said Trescott, absentmindedly, as she reviewed Louisa's patient notes and briefly examined her. "Louisa's blood work came back and though you can't tell by looking at her, she's putting up a good fight. She _is_ improving, Doctor Ellingham, even if she only seems to be holding her own. Blood count is better, inflammation is decreasing, kidney function is good. She's going to come through this."

Martin swallowed the lump that rose in his throat looking at Louisa's inert form on the bed. He willed her to blink, to move a finger, to do anything to give him a sign she was still there. "I wish her fever would come down. It's been over 103°F for four days now."

"That's not so bad. And, as you know, it's a sign her system is fighting this. We just need to give her more time."

"Of course." He knew his voice was shaky and it bothered him. It was easier to change the subject than to discuss his fears about Louisa. "And the Wenn boy – how did his surgery go?"

"He made it through both operations which is saying something. I suspect even with them, the extreme pressure on his brain will have done some permanent damage. I am cautiously optimistic he will pull through but we'll have to wait and see how extensive the impairment will be. Frazier will do a complete neurological workup and we'll know more."

Martin nodded grimly. "Was Al Large discharged today? Pauline said something along those lines."

"Yes, he and Michael Morrissey both went home today. And as for the rest of them, we're making some headway there as well. The other children have been moved to a regular pediatric ward. They'll all be home for Christmas, though Bobby Richards has some hearing loss. He'll see the otolaryngologist on Monday to see if there is anything we can do to improve the situation."

Martin nodded. "What about the chemist, Mr. Shepherd? Last I heard he was still unconscious."

"Ah, yes, still touch and go there too. He's suffered renal failure – not an uncommon outcome at his age. He's on dialysis right now. He's going to recover from the meningitis but without a transplant, he's going to have a tough road ahead with his kidneys."

"I see. Poor sod. Not likely to get a transplant at his age."

"Unfortunately, you're probably right." She made some notes on the chart. "I've got to run. We've got a whooping cough outbreak in Bude to deal with as well as all this. I'll be back to check in on Louisa before I go off duty."

Martin was holding James Henry in his lap when she finished and turned to go. She stopped and patted his head. "I'll have the nurse come in and take the catheter out – he'll be a much happier boy without that, won't he."

X X X X X

It was dark outside and the air was cold and damp when Martin said goodbye to James Henry, now strapped in his seat in the back of Tracy's car. He was relieved that James was not ill and was no longer still and limp in the hospital cot. But it was wrenching to send him away, even knowing it was for his own good. The last thing he did was tuck the plush rabbit into the car seat beside his son. "Good bye, then. I'll come and see him in the morning."

"Yes, we'll see you then. And Martin? Try and get some sleep tonight."

Martin nodded and shut the car door, then stepped back and watched Tracy drive away.

As he crossed the lobby on the way to the lift, Martin was greeted by the sound of children's voices. Martin turned around to see Roger Fenn standing in the atrium with a dozen or so school children around him, all of them singing exuberantly.

Roger caught Martin's eye and walked over to join him.

"How is she, then?"

"No real change. But the baby is fine. I just sent him to stay with the Parsons until I can take him home."

"We're all pulling for her, for both of you, mate," Roger said gently. "Tell her that we're all counting on her to get well."

Martin nodded. "I'll do that."

Roger clapped him on the back before going back to his little chorus of carolers.

"Love and Joy come to you and to you good wassail too and God bless you and send you a Happy New Year and God send you a Happy New Year!"

The children finished their song and looked solemnly at Martin, not knowing what to say.

Roger cleared his throat. "Very nice, children. I'm sure Miss Glasson would be very proud of you, wouldn't she, Doctor Ellingham?"

Martin was startled to be addressed. "Er, right. Yes. I'm sure she would be."

Roger nodded to the children and they began again.

"Angels we have heard on high . . ."

As he entered the lift, he could hear their voices echoing off the tiles.

The children's singing stayed in his head as he made his way to the high dependency unit and Louisa's bedside. After washing his hands, he took up his place beside her bed and clasped her hand in his, caressing the back of it gently with his thumb. He switched off the light and settled back in the chair, thinking he might just rest his eyes a bit.

Just as he was drifting off, Martin felt a slight pressure on his hand. He looked down expectantly, hoping he was right and yet fearful he had only dreamed it. But there it was again. She squeezed his hand ever so slightly.

"Louisa." His voice was quiet and calm, not revealing the tumult of emotions rising inside him.

Her eyelids fluttered. Then a sound. A single word. "James." It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.


	16. Homecoming

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 16 – Homecoming**

Martin couldn't help smiling as he gazed at the baby in his lap, hungrily drinking from his bottle and clutching at Martin's lapel as he fed. Things were definitely looking up. With two days to go until Christmas, Louisa was coming home. It had been nearly two weeks since the frantic helicopter ride to Truro and it felt like they had all been on a never-ending emotional roller-coaster. But now her fever was gone, she'd tolerated her antibiotic treatments well, and she was finally strong enough to walk slowly around the hospital ward without assistance. The last four nights, Martin had left the hospital and come home with James to sleep in their own beds. James had stayed with Tracy during the daytimes until yesterday when he had been reunited with an overwhelmed and tearful Louisa. Tonight they would all be under the same roof once again and Martin could stop holding his breath. Even though he had lived alone for years, somehow no place felt like home now without Louisa and James Henry.

Martin looked up from James Henry's milky face when heard Morwenna breeze into the kitchen. He noticed with disapproval that she was wearing mistletoe in her hair, a pair of antlers attached to a headband and necklace with jingle bells on it. Completely unprofessional in his book.

"Here's another one for you, Doc. Shall I put it in the fridge?"

"Another what?"

"Another jelly. This one's from Mrs. Averill so I don't advise eating it. Probably full of cat hair and fag ash, if you ask me."

He saw that she was carrying a clear plastic container enclosing a towering mold of red jelly, quivering. "Another one? You mean we have more than one?"

"Haven't you looked in the fridge in the last couple of hours? They've been arriving all morning – once word got round that Louisa was coming home today, people have been dropping by."

He frowned. He hadn't looked in the fridge since cooking his egg at half six. Sitting the baby in the playpen, he went to the fridge, where to his consternation he found no fewer than five plates or containers of jelly.

"What on earth are we supposed to do with all this?"

"Eat some of it, throw the rest away, return all the dishes, and send thank-you notes, I expect. That's what I did – when Grandpa died, I got jellies from at least twenty people. And really, with just me, even if I ate nothing but jelly I wasn't going to be able to finish it all."

"Why? Of all things, why jelly? It's not even nutritious." Noting that Morwenna thoughtfully had labeled Mrs. Averill's container on a piece of surgical tape, he dumped the gelatinous mess into the bin and placed the container in the dishwasher.

"I have no idea. But in Portwenn, in a crisis everyone makes jellies. You should hope for one from the vicar's wife – she makes it with pineapple and it is delish."

Martin rather doubted anyone connected with the vicar would be bringing anything to him. And that would be a mercy it seemed.

Just then there was a knock on the kitchen door. Martin went to answer it and found Joy Kronk holding a covered dish.

"Good morning, Doctor Ellingham. Peter and I were so happy to hear Miss Glasson would be coming home today. I brought a little something – I figured you might not have time to cook." She handed him the dish.

"Ah, yes. Jelly, is it?" he asked, awkwardly.

Her face fell. "Oh, no, it's a fish pie. I should have made jelly, shouldn't I? Petey wanted me to. I just thought you might need something more substantial."

"Oh, no this is fine, just fine. Fish pie sounds very, er, good" he replied. "We are well supplied in the jelly area so this will be a welcome change." Plus, he thought to himself, this might actually be edible, coming as it did from a restaurateur with some training in food safety. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Give our best to Miss G., now, will you?"

"Of course."

When she had left, he took the pie and put it in the fridge, moving aside a plate piled with wobbly lemon jelly topped with what looked like marshmallows and coconut. Disgusting.

He retrieved James and began putting on the baby's outdoor clothes for the ride to the hospital. As he did, Sylvia Weston, his London tutor turned locum, appeared with her coffee mug in hand and headed to the coffee machine on the worktop by the sink.

"Hello there," she said, cheerily. "So today's the big day."

"Yes, we're off shortly. One short stop to make at the shops in Truro first but then we'll be bringing her home."

"Brilliant. I'm looking forward to meeting her. I've heard quite a bit about her from your patients. She is certainly quite popular in the village."

"Louisa? Yes, she is. More popular than I am at any rate."

"Don't sell yourself short. There's a great deal of admiration for you among your patients. I've heard stories about some really good doctoring here, Martin."

"Just the usual colds and flu, cuts and scrapes really. Nothing that presents much of an actual challenge or requires any particular skill."

"I disagree. From what I've seen, you have displayed considerable medical skill in quite a challenging environment. You manage complex chronic illnesses for a number of patients, you tracked down the source on the cryptosporidium in the bottled water around here, and you got a handle on this little meningitis outbreak and kept it from becoming a true epidemic. Not to mention that you diagnosed aspergillosis a while back—not too many small town GPs see that very often. Or porphyria. Your surgery is well organized and well-equipped, your records are impeccable, and your patients are in good health. That is quite an accomplishment for one GP."

Martin merely grunted, uncomfortable with her praise and unwilling to believe that his work had been in any way remarkable. He was just doing his job.

"You know, I wasn't quite sure what to make of you when you first came to St. Mary's. You had such a chip on your shoulder about the GP course and seemed so unwilling to think anyone could teach you anything. But seeing how you've got on here, I am impressed. Very impressed indeed."

"Well I do have to thank you for filling in for me. I never expected you to be taking assignments as a locum."

"Well it was special circumstances, wasn't it? When Parsons sent out the SOS, he couldn't drum up much interest in a post over the Christmas holidays on short notice. But when I found out it was for you and what had happened, I was happy to come. I had a couple weeks of holiday owed me and my students are off for the Christmas break as well. Max and I didn't really have any holiday plans – Chrissy is doing a gap year in Australia and wasn't planning to come home and Connor is still deployed – his ship is in the Gulf until February. So it would have been a lonely holiday for us anyhow. This has been a lovely break."

"You can still make it home for Christmas if you wish. With Louisa back home, I should be able to cope here."

"Nonsense. We're planning to be here until Boxing Day. Your aunt has graciously invited us for Christmas lunch and Max has been enjoying his coastal walks and holing up in the hotel lounge with his novel. We're thinking we might need to book another holiday here in the summertime."

Just then Morwenna appeared bearing yet another bowl of jelly. "Look at this one from Miss Soames. Very Christmas-y, isn't it, with the green jelly and the red strawberries."

Martin grimaced. Better not bin it, though, seeing as it came from Louisa's friend and was actually given to her. "Here, I'll put it in the fridge." He rearranged the dishes balanced precariously in the fridge and wondered again about the sanity of the residents of this village.

Morwenna looked around. "Not much else is Christmas-y around here. I would've thought even if you didn't go in for holiday decorations, Miss Glasson would be all about the tree and all that clobber, what with it being the baby's first Christmas and all."

"Well I got the tree out," he said, pointing to the forlorn plastic evergreen sitting on the sideboard. He realized his shortcomings in this arena and felt a little guilty. "Louisa hasn't had much of a chance to do anything. I'm sure if she had been here . . ." He couldn't finish, remembering their row about a real tree just before she fell ill.

Sylvia seemed to pick up on his discomfort immediately and gave Morwenna a meaningful look. "Louisa and James are both going to be home for Christmas and that is the important thing, isn't it Martin?" And with that, she took her coffee and shooed Morwenna back to the consulting rooms, leaving Martin to strap James Henry into his carrier and head off to Truro.

X X X X X

It had seemed to Martin like having Louisa discharged from hospital should be a relatively straightforward process; she was well, he was a doctor and could look after her, they should be able to walk right out. However, it ended up taking hours, what with tracking down Doctor Trescott for the orders, having the nurse review them with Louisa, packing her bag, stopping twice to change James and once to feed him, waiting for a wheel chair, then loading the car with Louisa and James and all the flowers that had been sent to Louisa in hospital. Both Louisa and James Henry were worn about by the time they were done, and fell asleep in the car on the drive back.

When he pulled up in front of the surgery, he looked over at Louisa in the passenger seat. Despite her improving health, she still looked fragile, her creamy skin pale against her dark hair, her dark lashes emphasizing the weary smudges under her eyes. While he was thrilled to be bringing her home, he wouldn't be able to relax completely until the roses were back in her cheeks and her eyes had regained their sparkle.

He gently touched her shoulder. "We're here."

"Hmm. Already? Oh." She blinked back her sleepiness and swallowed a yawn.

"Can you manage going up the steps, or shall I take the baby in and come back and carry you?"

"I can do it, but you'd better hold the baby."

"Of course. Shall I take you straight up to bed, or do you want to stop in the living room for a while?"

"Let's try the sofa first. I've been in a bed so long."

"Right. Let me come around and help you." He unbuckled James from his car seat first and then, with the baby in one arm, came around to open Louisa's door and give her a hand out.

As they made their way up the stone steps leading to the entrance to the surgery, Rob Morrissey greeted them as he finished hanging an evergreen wreath on the front door. "Hello there, Doc. Good to see you Louisa."

"Thank you, Rob. That's lovely." Louisa's face lit up with a smile seeing the greenery on the door.

Rob held the door open for them and inside the surgery, Morwenna and Sylvia and several waiting patients called out their greetings. Martin noted with resignation that, in his absence, Morwenna had adorned her desk with a poinsettia and had hung Christmas cards on a ribbon across the window. He supposed it wouldn't disrupt the surgery too much.

He guided Louisa across the entry and held the door for her to go into the living room opposite. As she crossed the threshold, Louisa gasped. Martin came up behind her quickly, concerned that she was in pain. He looked down at her and saw her grinning from ear to ear. Relieved she was apparently pleased and not ill, he looked into the room and saw the reason for her reaction.

In the front window was an enormous, fragrant Christmas tree, glittering with lights and decorated with paper chains and intricate snowflakes and tinsel. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, a cozy red and green crocheted afghan on the back of the sofa, and a stocking hung from the mantle. There were candles on the table, and a centerpiece of pine cones and evergreen branches. The entire effect was homey and festive and quite unlike the usual atmosphere in the room.

Louisa looked up at Martin with tears in her eyes. "Martin, it is so lovely. You shouldn't have."

He shifted uneasily. "I, er, didn't. I'm not sure who did."

Laughter greeted them from behind as Sylvia and Morwenna and Rob were joined by Amanda and her sons, Pippa and Tricia and the entire Archer family, Pauline and Al and Bert. "Welcome home Louisa!" they all cried. "Merry Christmas!"

Author's Note: To my US readers, "jelly" is the UK term for what we call jello. For more insight into Portwenn's peculiar obsession with jelly, I refer you to Doc Martin: The Movie.


	17. Gathering

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 17 – Gathering**

Louisa sat in bed on the morning of Christmas Eve feeding James Henry from a bottle of formula. She stroked his cheek as he looked up at her with his wide blue eyes sparkling in his dear little face. This isn't so bad, she thought, remembering ruefully her refusal to wean him in order to take the antibiotics Martin has urged on her. She'd been foolish, she knew. Reckless, even. Dangerously reckless. And for what purpose? James still had been weaned but had also endured his own hospitalization followed by a week's separation from her. And she couldn't bring herself to think about what might have happened if Martin hadn't found her when he did, hadn't called in the helicopter and applied his own prodigious medical skills and those of his friends and colleagues to get her through this.

Martin. All through the worst days of her illness, she had only been able to think of him, his presence a steady and comforting anchor to reality that kept her from sliding back into oblivion. He had been beside her through it all, without one word of recrimination. He had blustered at the hospital staff plenty and she'd seen him lose his temper with Doctor Trescott and with Chris Parsons over medical matters. But with her he had been softer, calmer, and quite unlike the way he had behaved when she had refused antibiotics during her pregnancy. Other than a few embarrassing and intrusive questions about her bodily functions, his treatment of her had been actually quite sweet.

Coming home yesterday had been a major accomplishment. She'd dreaded the possibility of spending James Henry's first Christmas in hospital and Martin and Doctor Trescott had eventually agreed she was well enough to go home, given that Martin would be there to help her. She had figured just getting out would be enough of a celebration. Finding the house filled with festive decorations, courtesy of friends and neighbors, had been completely unexpected and had made her feel warm and gooey inside. Even Martin had managed a smile, seeming to have overcome at least some of his previous objections to the trappings of Christmas. She had spent several happy hours on the sofa wrapped in the festive afghan, enjoying the tree and the fire and watching James Henry's amazement at the transformation of their living room. They'd had fish pie and jelly for dinner which had tasted delicious, and then Martin had carried her carefully up the stairs to bed where she'd slept blissfully, free from the noises and interruptions and despair of nights in hospital.

Home. She hadn't lived in this house for very long but this was definitely home. The sheets that bore the scent of her fabric softener, the one Martin complained made him smell like he had flowers in his pants; the glowing nightlight that was so useful for late nights feeding James; the sounds of Martin shaving in the en suite bath nearby– all so familiar and welcoming. She cuddled James closer, feeling very lucky indeed to be here.

As she heard the unmistakable signs of Martin getting dressed in the alcove between the bathroom and the bed, James finished his feed. She shifted him to her shoulder where he produced an impressive belch and then giggled. She bounced him on her lap and blew raspberries on his neck. It was these simple things she had missed so much.

Martin came and sat on the edge of the bed as he buttoned his shirt. "Is everything alright in here?" He eyed her anxiously and she knew he was itching to stick a thermometer in her mouth, possibly even perform a complete physical. She wished he wouldn't fret so.

"We're just fine, aren't we James, just fine," she cooed. She sat the baby on the bed beside her and gave him his bunny to play with.

Martin looked at the tray of dishes on the bedside table. "Do you need any more breakfast? There is more tea in the kitchen. I could fix you more grapefruit if you like."

"No, but thank you." This level of solicitousness unnerved her a bit; he was clearly coddling her.

His eagle eyes scanned her carefully, looking for any evidence she had taken a turn for the worse, worry still evident in his gaze. As he fastened his cufflinks and began knotting his tie, she watched him too. He looked tired, she thought, tired and stressed. She felt another, stronger pang of guilt for causing him grief.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong." Her voice quavered a bit as she said this.

"About what?" he turned to look at her, surprised. "Breakfast? It's no trouble – I can get you some grapefruit as soon as I get my shoes on."

She put her hand on his arm to stop him. "No, Martin. I mean I'm sorry about all this. I was wrong not to follow your medical advice. I took risks that were unacceptable for both James and me, and I caused you distress that I can't take back. I was wrong and I am so very sorry."

He took her hand in his. She saw his face change as he struggled to find the words to respond. She looked steadily into his eyes, not giving him a chance to avoid answering.

Finally he spoke. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you." His voice was choked with emotion. She could see him swallow and blink, before he masked the emotion on his face and added, gruffly, "What's the point of being a doctor if even my own household won't follow my advice!"

Louisa wasn't fooled by his bluster. "I know," she said softly. She reached up and took his face in both her hands. "I am so sorry I put you through that. I wish I could take the worry away."

He bent his head and rested it briefly on her forehead. Then, as if remembering an urgent appointment, he abruptly pulled away and muttered something about socks. Louisa's eyes lingered on his back as he went to the bureau to find them.

James had lost interest in chewing on the ears of his bedraggled bunny and was pulling at Louisa's sleeve and grizzling for attention. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled her son into her lap for a cuddle.

"Father Christmas is coming tonight, James! What do you think of that?" The baby crowed and Louisa clapped his hands for him – he hadn't quite mastered that skill yet.

Martin came back, socks in hand, and sat beside them. "I don't imagine he is old enough to understand the concept of Christmas."

"Well he can learn, can't he?"

Martin smiled at his son and chucked him under the chin. "Yes, I suppose he can."

"I'm afraid Father Christmas won't have much in his sack, though. I had only just started shopping when all this happened."

Martin looked thoughtful. "It will be fine. James is too young to know the difference and having you home and on the mend is the only present I need."

As he said this, he leaned toward and she hoped he was going to kiss her. Instead he touched her forehead with the palm of his hand, a telltale sign he was evaluating her for fever, and then he took not her hand but her wrist, where he felt automatically for her pulse. So much for romance.

Having satisfied himself that there was nothing obviously wrong with her, went and found his shoes. As he tied them, he mentioned, "I have to go to the shops to pick up a few things. Aunt Ruth asked me to bring the sprouts for Christmas lunch and we could use more formula and nappies. Is there anything you need?"

"Wrapping paper, I guess. And is there something we can give Aunt Ruth? It's so nice of her to cook Christmas lunch for us all."

"I already bought her some books. She has a peculiar taste for police procedurals one wouldn't expect given her profession." He hesitated a moment. "Is there anyone else we need a gift for?"

"Amanda, probably. Morwenna? Maybe something for Sylvia and Max since they will be at Ruth's and she was so kind to come down and cover for you while we were in hospital." How were they going to do this all on Christmas Eve? "Maybe you could just pick some wine or some chocolates or something that would be appropriate for all of them?"

Martin made a face. "I don't want any part in encouraging overindulgence in worthless calories and alcohol."

"But it's Christmas," she protested.

"All the more reason not to do it – there will be no shortage of sweets and drink around for them to make themselves ill and either way I'll still have a surgery full of gout and gastritis on Boxing Day."

She shook her head in exasperation. "Alright then, how about fruit baskets? The do nice ones at the greengrocer's every year and they might even have Jimmy deliver them for you."

He looked mollified. "That sounds . . . er . . . acceptable. I have to go to the greengrocer's anyhow so I'll see what they have." He picked up the baby. "I'll take him with me; give you a chance to rest."

"I'm sure he'll enjoy the outing." She smiled at Martin and patted James on the back. As they left she set about trying to remember where she had hidden the gifts she had purchased before falling ill.

X X X X X

After dinner, they set off for church. Martin had been against it, wanting her to stay in and rest but she had been adamant that the annual Christmas Eve carol service and Nativity play was the highlight of Christmas in Portwenn. He had ultimately relented when she promised to spend the afternoon resting. In the end she was glad that she had napped, as just moving around the house had left her more exhausted than she had anticipated. Another case of Martin knowing what she needed more than she did.

The whole village was arriving just as they did, young and old all excited by the festive atmosphere and the anticipation that always defined Christmas Eve. They were greeted by patients and students alike and everyone expressed their gratitude to Martin for his efforts to control the meningitis epidemic and their happiness that Louisa and James Henry were home for Christmas. Martin merely nodded in response, holding James Henry tightly to his shoulder, but Louisa thanked them all profusely.

Martin hesitated, reluctant to follow when Louisa made her way to the front pew. "Shouldn't we sit further back? In case he starts to fuss and we have to leave?"

"No, we need to be here. It will be alright – everyone expects fussy children on Christmas Eve – it's almost a tradition." She had a surprise for Martin and wanted him front and center when the time came. He gave her a look as if to say I hope you know what you're doing, but followed her and sat beside her with James on his lap.

There were candles lit everywhere and beautiful decorations. The massed voices singing the familiar carols sounded so homey and beautiful to Louisa that she thought she might cry. She looked up at Martin to see how he was reacting and thought she saw the slightest smile on his lips. She took his hand and squeezed it.

Martin mouthed the words, "How are you holding up?" He was looking at her with an intensity that made her smile. She smiled and gave him a quick thumb's up sign.

James Henry fell asleep during the brief sermon, a discussion of faith and gratitude. Warm feelings welled up in her head as she heard the vicar speak of the village's faith in Martin as their doctor and their gratitude for his skill. Martin's cheeks were just the slightest bit pink and his eyes cast down at his shoes, uncomfortable as always being complimented on his skills. The mood was decidedly more somber when prayers were said in William Newcross's memory, and for the recovery of Theo Wenn and Lionel Shepherd who would not be home for Christmas this year.

Then it was time for the Nativity play. This was always a highlight for Louisa, seeing her students and many former students so sweetly serious about re-enacting the Christmas miracle. This year was doubly sweet, as she spotted the recovered patients among the cast. Mary Archer's smile beamed from the choir of angels, her little brother, Owen, made a splendid sheep alongside the Fenn twins, and Timmy, sporting his new hearing aid, joined the Morrissey boys amongst the shepherds. Bobby Richards had been cast as the kind innkeeper and looked comical in his false beard and flowing robes. Peter Cronk played Joseph with a mischievous look on his face that reminded her the same boy was inside even though he seemed to have grown a foot and had his voice drop two octaves since he had been in her class. Emily Braithwaite looked lovely and serene as the blessed Virgin. Tasha took her role as director quite seriously, mouthing the words from behind the pulpit and the cameras were flashing as the whole village wanted to remember this night.

Martin nudged her. "Where is the doll?"

"Shush!" She smiled at him, knowingly and tucked the blanket around James Henry more tightly.

"You can't have a Nativity play without the Christ child – it sort of defeats the purpose," he hissed. Louisa only nodded and took James Henry from Martin's arms.

As Joseph and Mary were shown their lodgings in the stable, filled with children dressed as everything from unicorns to frogs, Louisa stood up and, cuddling the sleeping baby, went to stand behind Tasha. When Jemima Chester as the narrator began to outline the blessed birth, Emily turned around briefly and Louisa gently placed James Henry in her arms and then quickly returned to her seat beside Martin.

He looked at her and raised one eyebrow. She pretended not to notice as she readied her mobile to capture the moment when Emily laid James Henry, sleeping peacefully and wrapped in his blanket, into the wooden manger. There was a collective Awww from the congregation at the lovely tableau, followed by chuckles and enthusiastic applause when the silence was broken by a shepherd dropping his crook on the slate floor with a loud clatter.

Martin took Louisa's hand and tucked it under his arm and they took their eyes off their son and his theatrical debut long enough to smile proudly at one another. Just another little family among all the rest joining the community on this holy night.

The congregation rose to begin singing Silent Night as the service ended. Louisa sighed and couldn't imagine being any happier than she was right then.


	18. Bittersweet

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 18 – Bittersweet**

Martin woke Christmas morning in an empty bed. He glanced at the clock and saw he had slept until nearly half past eight. It was unusual but not surprising – he'd had a rough few weeks and he'd been up with James twice during the night, trying to let Louisa rest. He heard James fretting from across the corridor and Louisa's soft voice trying to soothe him. He stretched and then donned his dressing gown and crossed the landing to join them.

Louisa was sitting in the rocking chair with James in her lap. He was dressed in the fuzzy Christmas sleeper and squirming. Louisa held the matching red cap in her hand, and when she looked up at Martin, she had a very cross look on her face.

"Martin. He won't wear the hat." She was clearly exasperated. "Every time I put it on him, he just cries." With that she demonstrated by gently placing the cap on the baby's head, causing him to squall at an alarming volume.

"I, er, don't think he likes it," Martin offered, taking the offending hat and setting in on the table. The baby quieted immediately. Clearly the hat was the culprit.

"But why? I just wanted one photo of him, in his outfit in front of the tree. Is that too much to ask?" Her voice was brittle and he could tell she was distressed, though for the life of him he couldn't fathom why the baby's headgear should cause this reaction.

He looked at her, torn between his desire to erase the frustration he heard in her voice and his view that this was a ridiculous thing to be upset about. "Well I think you have a choice. A photo of a smiling boy with no hat or a crying boy with the hat on. It's up to you." As he saw her face fall, he suddenly recalled the advice from the magazine drivel he had been reading to her about baby's first Christmas. "You can't expect everything to go perfectly with a baby. What is it Bert is always saying? Go with the flow?"

She sighed. "You're right. Of course you're right. It is just that so many things I had planned for his first Christmas didn't work out the way I intended. I was just hoping to get that one perfect photo so we'd have the memory AND a card to send to our friends."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "He won't remember anything about this anyhow. And I'd rather remember him happy than remember him unhappy with a hat on." He picked up the baby and looked at her questioningly. "Well? Shall we go downstairs and see what, er, Father Christmas has brought?"

She sighed, and then smoothed the fuzzy cap with her fingers and placed it in the bureau drawer. He could see in her expression that she still had her regrets. He wished he could alleviate her disappointment, but sometimes things did not work out just the way you planned.

When they arrived in the living room, Louisa switched on the tree lights and showed James the brightly wrapped packages under the tree. Martin was happier with a cup of coffee in his hand, and James was similarly happier after another bottle and a mashed banana. The all-important photo was duly taken of a happy baby, sans hat, sitting in front of the tree with a bit of ribbon in his hand.

Louisa opened James Henry's presents with him first. He seemed bewildered by the shape sorter but more interested a set of little wooden animals. He was particularly delighted by a rubber duck for the bath, and squealed with laughter at the sound the duck made when squeezed.

"That is a big hit!" said Louisa. "What made you think of it?"

He frowned. "Oh. There was always one at Joan's when I came to visit as a child. When I was small, I used to imagine that Joan took the duck in the bath with her. It wasn't until I was older that I realized she had him just for me." It was a bittersweet memory, this first Christmas without Joan.

"There are two for you, Louisa, one from me and one from James. Which one do you want to have first?" He showed her a large awkwardly shaped box wrapped with a surgeon's precision with lots of meticulous seams and sticking tape and a smaller box that had clearly been wrapped in a posh department store.

"Hmm. How about the big one first?" She looked at him quizzically before opening it, and his heart raced, hoping she would like what he had chosen. He knew he wasn't any good at this sort of thing and hoped at least that she wouldn't cry.

"Is this for my bike?" she asked, looking at the box after the wrappings were gone.

"Yes – it's a safety seat for James to ride with you. There is even a little helmet for him." He looked at her, wishing for her to say that she liked it.

Her face lit up and she smiled broadly at him. "Thank you, Martin. This is brilliant – I have missed riding my bike. It wasn't practical when I was pregnant and since James was born, we've had the buggy to contend with. I know James and I will both enjoy taking this out for a spin when the weather is a bit warmer, won't we James?" She patted her son on his head and leaned up so Martin could kiss her cheek.

He was flustered but relieved and very pleased she was happy with her gift. He handed her the second package, a box the size of a small paperback book, wrapped in fancy paper with an abundance of gold ribbon. "I took James to Truro with me to choose this one."

"You did? When?"

"The day we brought you home from hospital. We made a little detour."

He saw that her hands shook a little while unwrapping the box.

"Perfume! And it's my favorite too!" She looked at Martin with delight and then kissed James. "You did a super job, choosing this for Mummy, James. How did you know this one was my favorite? Did you smell them all?"

"I found when buying scent for my mother that it is vital to buy the right one. I remembered you saying you wear Kenzo Flowers on . . . on another occasion. The woman at the store showed James a red bottle and a clear one and he put his hand on the red so that's the one we bought. It is the right scent, isn't it?"

Her eyes were glistening. "You remembered! I never thought . . . I never thought you paid any attention."

He softened his gaze. "I remember everything you ever said to me, Louisa, even your first words to me which, if you remember, were, 'Do you have a problem?' "

She chuckled and then rewarded him with a hug and a lingering kiss. "I was the one with the problem, then, though, wasn't I?"

**X X X X X **

After finishing up with the sprouts for Christmas lunch, Martin went up to the bedroom to find his tie. He was already wearing his gift; a pair of silver cufflinks made from a cast of James Henry's thumbprints. He was so touched by Louisa's thoughtfulness in choosing them, and very relieved not to have found a reindeer jumper or a tie with Santa on it when he opened his gift.

As he opened the bedroom door, Louisa emerged from the wardrobe, dress in hand, clad in a lacy rose-colored bra and slip.

"Oh, I'll . . . I'll just leave you then. I can get my tie later." He mumbled, looking away to give her some privacy.

"No, you can come in. I'll need you in a moment to do my zip," she replied with a smile, laying the dress on the bed.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. She looked so lovely. In the rose satin underclothes trimmed with creamy lace and tiny rosebuds she appeared elegant and sensuous at the same time. As he walked by the bed on his way to retrieve his tie, she stopped him and took his hands and placed them on her waist with a saucy look. He stroked her soft, warm flesh, and her arms went around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, deep and filled with promise. His arms tightened around her as he returned the kiss with equal ardor.

When they came up for air, he took one fingertip and gently traced the satin strap of her bra to where it met the cup, then along the line of delicate lace that contrasted so beautifully with the curve of her alabaster skin. "Is this new?" he asked, hoarsely. "I don't remember seeing it before." And he was sure that he would have, sure the image would have imprinted itself permanently on his brain.

She gave him a wistful smile. "It was time to put away the nursing bras." She looked down at her breasts. "Now that James is weaned, the baps are back to being purely decorative."

He reddened, thinking about just how exquisitely decorative he found her breasts, and then thought he'd better steer things back to safer territory. "Er, but you'd tell, me, wouldn't you, if you had any soreness or swelling? Any engorgement? You could still get mastitis."

She sighed. "Yes, DOCTOR, if you want to be medical about it. I will tell you, I promise."

He knew he'd said the wrong thing again. To cover his embarrassment, he put his arms around her and kissed her deeply again, his hand kneading and caressing her breast in a way he hadn't allowed himself since the eve of their not-quite-wedding more than a year ago. She responded to his touch enthusiastically, giving him the courage to move his hand to the clasp at her back, hopefully.

At that, she pulled away slightly. "Hold that thought," she said with a cheeky grin. "We can't be late for Christmas lunch at your aunt's. Everyone would be talking! Let's wait until we have time to do things properly."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. This was going to make Christmas lunch quite an ordeal to get through, thinking about what she was wearing and what she had promised. He hoped perhaps they could use Louisa's illness as an excuse to cut their visit short and return home for more interesting pastimes.

He moved past her to the wardrobe and selected a red tie. No reindeer or Santa's for him, thank you; it would not be dignified. As he looped the tie around his neck and knotted it skillfully, he watched Louisa step into her green dress, and then slip her feet into black shoes. Both the dress and the shoes looked familiar although he couldn't place when she had worn them.

When she turned her back, he dutifully fastened the zipper and the fiddly little hook at the top. She smoothed the dress over her hips and then spun around, inviting him to comment.

He nodded in appreciation. "You look . . . slimmer."

She chuckled. "Yes, I can see all the new mums lining up to buy my new diet book. Need to lose those last few pounds of baby weight? Try my new Coma Diet! Guaranteed slimmer in two weeks or your money back."

X X X X X

Christmas lunch was a triumph. Ruth had done a wonderful job with the turkey and chestnut dressing and glazed carrots. Martin and Louisa contributed roasted sprouts and a towering jelly filled with bananas, orange slices, pineapple and green grapes, courtesy of the vicar's wife. Sylvia and Max brought a Christmas hamper from Fortnum's in London with port and stilton and walnuts and a Christmas pudding with hard sauce ready for the oven. Everyone ate heartily and James Henry watched in wide-eyed amazement, taking an occasional break from his own lunch of rice porridge to gnaw on the squeaky giraffe Louisa had put in his stocking.

After lunch, they gathered in Ruth's sitting room before the fire. There was a lump in Martin's throat thinking about last Christmas, how he and Joan had sat together in this very room. He had been lost in his own despair over the cancelled wedding and Louisa's move to London, and thinking back on it now, he knew he must have been terrible company for Joan. The last straw had been a call-out to tend to a sick child. The child, it turned out, was not suffering from appendicitis after all, but from a surfeit of mince pies stolen from the pantry, and was cured instantly by an episode of projectile vomiting, all over Martin's favorite suit. After cleaning up, he'd had no energy to return to Joan's and had spent the rest of the day alone at home cursing Portwenn and its residents for their lack of basic common sense.

This year was so very different. Joan was gone and was sorely missed, but what a joy to have Louisa and James Henry here. A year ago he couldn't have dreamt of such a thing. And Aunt Ruth – how many years had it been since he'd seen her for Christmas? Not since he'd lived in London and not often then. Having Sylvia, who during this ordeal had proved a faithful friend as well as a tutor, and the amiable Max join them for the holiday had been fine too, not the burden he would have found it once.

He glanced down at Louisa, who was sitting on the floor with James, showing him how to push a circus train across the carpet. The animals popped up when the wheels went round, eliciting a giggle from James each time it happened. Despite her illness, the bloom was returning to her cheeks and she looked positively radiant sharing their son's first Christmas with him.

Ruth cleared her throat. "I'm not much for choosing toys, but I do have this for James Henry. You'll have to put it away for him until he is older." She handed Martin a small wrapped box.

Martin opened it and inside he found a gold pocket watch and chain. He held it up and asked, "Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes, it was your grandfather's. I found it among Joan's things. Since your son is named after him, I thought it should go to him. I think he'll appreciate it more than your father will."

Martin nodded; turning it over in his hands, remembering how his distinguished grandfather had worn it looped in his waistcoat long after such things were fashionable. He opened the back, unable to keep himself from examining the internal workings. "It looks nineteenth century to me, possibly earlier," he said, so caught up in the intricacies of the watch movement he failed to thank his aunt for her thoughtfulness.

"Thank you, Ruth. What a lovely gift! I am sure James Henry will treasure it," exclaimed Louisa, remembering her manners even if Martin hadn't.

James had sensed that he was no longer the center of attention and was not happy about it. He let out a wail and then bit his giraffe so it made an outraged squeak on his behalf. They all chuckled, and Martin lowered himself to the floor beside James and Louisa, as she started reading from the Tales of Peter Rabbit, a gift from Sylvia and Max.

"Thank you for inviting us to join you," said Sylvia, smiling at James. "Christmas is more fun with little ones and it has been a long time since our children were small."

"It must have been difficult, going through medical training with babies," Ruth commented.

Max laughed. "Babies have a way of coming when they come, regardless of whether it is convenient."

Louisa gave Martin a knowing glance at this comment. "You were quite young when you had your children, then. I imagine you had more energy than I have for James at my age."

"Well Max robbed the cradle when he married me," Sylvia said, fondly. "He was a graduate student in microbiology at King's when I came up to London for medical school. We eloped a year later, mainly to get a place in married student accommodations. Connor came along when I was still in med school and Chrissy two years later when I was a house officer."

Martin couldn't imagine how one would withstand the rigors of medical training and the exhausting broken nights of parenting a newborn at the same time. He had a newfound respect for Sylvia.

"Sounds like a fairytale romance," said Louisa.

Sylvia smiled at Max and squeezed his hand. "How did you two meet, Louisa? I guess in a small village it is bound to happen."

"Well it is complicated . . ." Louisa began.

Martin cut her off. "No, it was quite straightforward. Louisa was on the search committee that hired me for the post here. We first spoke on the plane down from London and then were formally introduced at the interview."

Sylvia smiled. "Well that explains it, then."

"Explains what?"

"Why you took the job in Portwenn. As one of your references, I knew you had numerous offers. Everyone at St. Mary's was quite surprised at the time that you didn't take a post in London. We knew Parsons was a friend of yours but that didn't seem sufficient to drag you out of London to Cornwall. Meeting Louisa explains why you accepted this post over the others, that's all."

Martin could feel the flush creeping up his face. "I'll just start the washing up." He could feel Louisa's eyes on him as he gathered up some empty tea cups and carried them to the kitchen sink.

Louisa took James to the lavatory to change his nappy while Max came to help Martin with the dishes.

"How long have you lived here then, Martin? You seem to fit right into the community."

"Five years now." Fitting in wasn't how he would have described it.

"Idyllic place though, really. Like being on holiday all the time."

Martin shook his head. "Not if you're working here."

"Yes, I imagine it's difficult to keep your home and work life separate, having the surgery right in your house. I guess that is how it is done in these small villages."

"More of a problem now that . . ." He meant to say now that he wasn't living there alone but he stopped himself. "Now that I have to worry about James catching every illness that comes around."

"Yes, I can imagine after this experience how you would worry. Any way to make them more separate?"

"Not with the present building. Even if we could put in a new entrance for the patients, there is no way upstairs without going through the reception area."

"Yes that would be a problem. Something to consider if you do-over the place."

"Or when we move house."

He hadn't heard Louisa come in, but when he looked up from the glass he was washing, he saw her in the doorway, James on her hip, with a stricken look on her face. Before he had a chance to react, to find out what was troubling her, his mobile rang. He saw the call was from Joe Penhale.

"Ellingham."

"Doctor? It's Maggie. Maggie, er, Penhale. You, er, helped with my, er, amnesia." Her voice was tentative.

"For God's sake, this is hardly the time for a social call, Mrs. Penhale. Is there a medical emergency?"

"It's Joe. He's feverish and vomitin' and says his head hurts and his body aches. He told me about that menin-whatsit that was goin' around down here and I'm worried that might be what he has."

Martin's heart sank. This shouldn't be happening. The outbreak should be over. Where could Penhale have picked this up? His mind raced.

"Listen to me, Mrs. Penhale. I want you to get some ice . . ." And with that he felt a profound sense of déjà vu.


	19. Resolution

**Family Matters**

**Chapter 19 – Resolution**

Martin arrived back at the surgery around six. As he parked the car, he saw there was a light on in the window upstairs welcoming him home. Sylvia and Max had offered to drop Louisa and James home on their way back to the Wilson Hotel, since Martin had been unsure how long or involved his home visit to the police station would be. Thankfully, Penhale did not have meningitis. Martin couldn't suppress his relief at that one. It was Salmonella instead.

The barmy ex-wife had decided to cook Christmas lunch in Bude and drive it down to Portwenn to share with the constable. Not safe food handling to be sure. It appeared that they had become distracted and had let the food sit out on the table considerably longer than intended before consuming it, which was, as it always was, a disastrous mistake, allowing the microbes festering in the undercooked poultry to multiply exponentially. Martin smirked, remembering the unmistakable love bite he had discovered on Penhale's neck when he examined him for nuchal rigidity – he had a pretty good idea of how they had become distracted. Joe had fallen ill within two hours of eating Maggie's bacteria-laden turkey, in a textbook presentation of food poisoning, and from the looks of it she wouldn't be far behind. That would likely put an end to their romantic _rendez-vous_. He'd left them with rehydration salts and explicit instructions to dispose of the food immediately.

Martin was looking forward to his own romantic _rendez-vous_. He hadn't been able to get the image of Louisa from this morning out of his head. He had been distracted all through lunch by the tiniest glimpse of a pink satin strap that had slid briefly into view on Louisa's shoulder. The fact that she was otherwise dressed quite demurely and looked like a Botticelli Madonna as she cuddled the baby made it all the more exciting to contemplate peeling away the dress and finding the hidden Louisa, the version reserved just for him. Sometimes it was good that no one expected him to be a sparkling conversationalist, as discussing the political situation in the Persian Gulf or even the latest issue of the Lancet during lunch would have been quite impossible.

He found the kitchen and the living room dark when he entered. They both must be upstairs. He hoped Louisa hadn't changed her clothes yet. After hanging up his coat, he returned his medical bag to his consulting room before heading up to the nursery.

As he ascended, he called out, "Louisa?"

"Shush! James Henry is sleeping." The voice was coming from her study and it was decidedly chilly. Was she sore that he had been called out on Christmas? Well, she was going to have to get used to it – as the sole GP in the village he was nearly always on call. It came with the territory; her territory.

He peeked into the nursery first, and spent a moment watching James Henry sleep. He looked so peaceful, lying in his cot in his green striped pajamas, his rabbit under his arm and his thumb in his mouth. The giraffe and the duck were both perched on the changing unit and the other new toys and books had been placed carefully on the shelf under the window. He hoped his son was having sweet dreams.

Martin noticed one other thing, an ominous sign that made him frown. Louisa's pillow and an old blue blanket were spread on the narrow bed across the room from the cot. Was she planning to sleep in here? That did not bode well.

He strode across the landing to the closed study door, uncertain as to what was troubling her and realizing with growing certainty that his hope for a quiet holiday celebration _a deux_ was about to be dashed. He fingered the small box in his pocket, one last gift for Louisa, and took a deep breath before knocking. "Louisa? May I come in?"

"It's your house," was her reply.

He opened the door and gazed at her anxiously. She had changed out of her dress, to his disappointment; now she was wearing a ratty navy track suit she usually reserved for teaching PE at the school. She sat behind the desk, with slips of paper spread out across its surface - likely the blasted school timetable. He remembered her icy, mocking tone when he'd admonished her for doing that last term on his desk in the consulting room and wondered what it was about this task that made her so prickly.

"That's true," he said, "but it is your home too."

"Not for long, I gather."

He was stunned. He had no idea what to say. Was she on the brink of leaving? Again? It couldn't be. His heart sunk and his face fell. What was wrong now?

"You gather?" Despite the fear in his gut, his voice thankfully remained steady.

She looked at him with fire in her eyes. Angry fire. "Yes, I GATHER." She spit the word. "I GATHER from what I heard you tell a near stranger, that we're moving house. Just like that. No discussion; you didn't even have the courtesy to tell me first. James and I are like the furniture, I suppose. You just expect to pack us up in the removal van and take us along wherever you please."

"Louisa. Just wait." He was trying to be reasonable. If only she would listen to him.

"Wait? Wait for what? Wait for you to tell me what my life is going to be like? Wait for you to make more decisions about what I will or will not be doing without consulting me? That's not a partnership, that's a, that's . . . that's servitude! First it was the baby's name and then it was boarding school and then it was London and the flat there and then it was the christening and then it was the godparents and then you wanted to send us off to Ruth's and now you plan to move house. . ."

"LOUISA!" he bellowed. "Will you stop for one moment?"

She looked up in mid-rant. She examined his face carefully and then quite deliberately closed her mouth, setting her lips in a firm line and crossing her arms across her body.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. What is it exactly I am supposed to have said that has you all worked up?"

"Worked up? Is that a way of saying I am a hysterical woman?"

"Don't bring gender into this. It has nothing to do with your being female. I simply don't know what you are talking about. Who said we were moving house? I didn't."

"Martin, I heard you. At Ruth's. You couldn't wait until I was out of the room changing our son's nappy to tell your posh London friends we were moving house. I heard it with my own ears so don't tell me you didn't say it."

The light switched on in his brain and he said, with relief, "Louisa, I am not sure what you heard, but you must have heard out of context. I'm not planning to move house and I wouldn't do that without speaking with you." He credited himself for having learned something from the whole move to London debacle.

"But you said . . . I mean I heard you, I clearly heard you." She seemed calmer but still defensive.

"If you heard part of my conversation with Max, then you must not have heard it all. I was talking about how difficult it would be to move the staircase so you could go upstairs without crossing through the reception area and said we wouldn't be able to fix that unless we moved house."

She slumped. He grew concerned. He reached automatically to touch her forehead, checking for fever.

"Martin!" she protested. "Stop treating me like a patient. I can't argue with you properly if you're taking my temperature." She sounded cross but he could see the corners of her mouth twitching, as though she were trying not to smile as she realized what she had just said.

A hint of a smile played on his own lips. "In that case . . ." He placed the back of his hand firmly against her forehead and took her wrist in the other so he could play at taking her pulse. "I may have to perform a complete physical examination."

He could sense her struggling. He knew this conversation was not over, this issue not yet put to rest. But perhaps, just perhaps, they could put it aside for the rest of the evening. He sat on the edge of her desk, took her face in his hands and gravely looked into her eyes, examining them carefully. He pulled each eyelid open briefly, enjoying gazing into the liquid blue depths of her eyes, the eyes that had enchanted him since he first glimpsed them on that dreadful flight to Cornwall. "No sign the glaucoma has returned."

"That's a relief." This time she did smile.

He ran his fingers over her neck as though checking for swollen lymph nodes. His thumb came to rest on the pulse point in the hollow of her throat. Her breath caught as he gently rubbed this soft and vulnerable spot, still looking into her eyes.

"Stand up, please," he said, his voice soft despite giving orders like he did in his consulting room. "I need to check your balance."

She rose from her chair and faced him. "By all means."

He put one hand on each shoulder and then ran them briskly down her arms ending at her elbow. He turned her arms so her wrists were extended with the delicate inside facing up. He gently ran his fingers over the sensitive skin with the fine blue veins running so close to the surface. He raised one eyebrow at the small sigh that escaped her lips as he did so.

He knelt down and placed his hands on her hips. "Bend your right leg," he directed. He felt her thigh and her knee. "And the other." She quickly complied.

"As I suspected," he said, gravely.

"What?" she said in surprise.

"A bit weak in the knees."

At that she started laughing. She swatted his hands away as they slid back up towards her waist. "Doctor, I think to have a proper examination, you're going to need some, er, equipment." Her eyes were mischievous and her grin wicked.

He stood and looked at her steadily, dropping the mockery and taking her hands. "I have everything I need, right here."

She stopped laughing and put her arms around his neck. His arms lifted her from behind so they were nose to nose and they kissed, one mouth melting into the other with no indication where hers began and his left off. All the tension in his body uncoiled in that moment, the relief that she was here, that he was here, that they were here, together, overfilling him.

He turned to sit her on the desk top when she protested. "Not here, not yet." She kissed him again, and then slid out of his grasp and took his hand to pull him along after her.

He knew he would go wherever she led, just as he had known that day at Pentire Castle that no matter how dreadful the village was, he would stay if that meant being with her. He trusted her and where she would take him. It was a new feeling and it dawned on him that it was a pleasant one.

He needn't have worried where they were going as it soon became quite obvious what Louisa had in mind. And when they arrived in the bedroom, there were more delights to discover. Although the green dress he had zipped her into this morning was gone, he was delighted to find, when she'd finally shed the horrible track suit, that underneath she was still wearing the entrancing bra and a pair of ruffled pink pants that only emphasized the gorgeous curves of her bottom. And when he bent to kiss the hollow of her throat, he picked up the scent of her perfume.

"Is that the one we gave you?" he murmured, nuzzling her neck as she busied herself unbuttoning his shirt. "It smells fresh, and flowery, with a touch of vanilla." It was claptrap of course, he smelled nothing of the sort, but this was what the advert said and he hoped he could fake it.

She burst out laughing. "Not, as I believe you said last time, 'faintly urine-like'?"

He shook his head. "You're not going to hold that against me."

"No, but there's something else I'll hold against you if you like," she said, and then she showed him just what she meant.

X X X X X

Later that night they lay tangled together in their bed, replete. His hand found hers and caressed it gently, each finger, one at a time. He was happy. He knew it. He only had one question on his mind.

"Louisa?"

"Mmm?" she murmured, rolling onto her side and burrowing her head into his shoulder. He wrapped his arm protectively around her and stroked her shoulder gently.

"Are you happy?"

"Mmm. Of course I am; that was lovely." She lifted her chin and kissed him softly.

"No, not that. I mean, I am glad you are happy with that. But are you happy with your life, with our life?"

She propped herself up on her elbow. "That's a question I never thought I'd hear from you."

"Why should it surprise you that I want you to be happy?" He was a bit indignant now.

"Oh Martin, it's not that. It's just that you aren't one for talking about feelings. I never expect you to initiate a conversation like that."

"But I need to know." He looked at her anxiously, pushing himself up against the headboard.

She pulled herself up to face him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Yes, I am happy. Happy with our life. It isn't that there aren't things to improve on but for the first time I feel like we have a real chance to work them out."

He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until now, when he let it out slowly. "Good. Right." Without another word, he arose from the bed and groped on the chair beside the window for his clothes."

"You're not going to ask me that question and then leave, are you?" Louisa said in disbelief. "Even you wouldn't do that."

"No, I just need to find something that was in my pocket." He felt a bit awkward walking back to the bed entirely naked holding a tiny box hidden in the palm of his hand, but he didn't want to stop and find his pants but lose his nerve. He took a deep breath. "I'm not done asking questions tonight."

She looked at him quizzically. "Oh, are we back to playing doctor? That was a fun game, one I can't believe we haven't played before. What kind of exam are you going to perform next?" She grinned at him and he marveled again at how unbelievably lucky he felt having this glorious creature in his life, and in his bed.

He sat beside her and took her hands. "No, I have a serious question for you. One you don't have answer straight away if you don't want to. But last October, when we called things off, we said we didn't think we could make each other happy. And for a while it seemed like that was true. But when you were ill, when I thought I wouldn't have you any longer. . ." He stopped, his voice catching. "When I thought I might lose you, I realized I would never be happy again if you weren't here."

"Oh Martin!" There were tears in her eyes.

"Let me finish. I couldn't be happy without you. And I know it's not what that bloody vicar said I was supposed to ask myself, but it's true. And so I need to know, Louisa, are you happy enough, do you think you can be happy, here, with me?" Bollocks. He was getting this all tangled up. "That is. What I want to ask . . ." Blast. He couldn't get the words out.

"Yes, Martin. Yes." She was smiling and her eyes shone. "Yes, I will marry you."

Ah, Louisa. She knew what he needed even before he said it. He kissed her fiercely and then fumbled with the tiny box so he could slide the gleaming diamond ring on her finger. It fit perfectly, like it belonged there, just as it had the first time around.

"It's beautiful," she said, admiring her hand.

"You're beautiful," he said, kissing her hand gently.

The unmistakably ringing of his mobile accompanied by the distinctive sound of a hungry baby interrupted their moment, as both were wont to do in the late hours of an evening. Even at this new beginning some things were still the same, and they always would be.

**The End**

**Author's Notes:**

Thank you to everyone who read my tale and especially to those who took the time to comment. I am humbled and honored by your attention and your encouragement.

A very special thank you goes to my awesome beta, ggo85. Her expert hand can be seen throughout the story and I know that my work was enhanced tremendously by her corrections and suggestions, her vast knowledge of all things medical, and her strict adherence to the rules of fiction writing. Her generosity with her time and talents is truly inspiring.

I would be remiss if I did not also thank my family who are, by now, so sick of Doc Martin that the DVDs have had to be banned to a neighbor's house. They put up with me and my peculiar hobby out of love and I love them all the more for it.

Finally, I also owe my thanks to Buffalo Pictures for creating such amazing characters and storylines for us to play with. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and though this imitation pales in comparison to the real thing, it was written in a spirit of sincerity and admiration.

Jane


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